


Technicolor Nightmares

by Ayngondaia



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: (romance isn't the main focus of this story, (tags will be added as fic updates), Blood, Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Magic, Minor Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Slow Burn, but there will be janne/alternis in very very late chapters)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngondaia/pseuds/Ayngondaia
Summary: He should be dead. Who could survive a fall like that? So why could he open his eyes, why could he taste the copper of blood on his lips and why would he be stupid enough to feel even remotely safe? Why was he still alive?





	1. What Goes Around

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of heart and soul has gone and is still going into this story, so i'm super stoked to finally get it out there. updates will be... irregular, to say the least. still, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Would it be too late to become religious at this point?  
  
It's only a sliver of a thought, but between moments of exhaustion as he dips in and out of consciousness, Janne succeeds in catching it by the tail end. The more he manages to keep his eyes open for longer than a second, the more he can feel.  
  
There's water lapping at his legs, at his fingertips, at his shoulders -- and it's warm. If he closes his eyes, blocks the cavernous ceiling from his mind, he can almost imagine he's at the beach. Shrills and groans he can't place echo from further in, and the illusion is broken in a snap.  
  
He doesn't know how long it's been. In another moment of lucidity, he can feel something else: a throbbing pain in his skull, just behind his temple -- where he guesses there's quite a jagged cut, if all the blood clouding the vision in his right eye is anything to go by. When he raises his eyebrow, the searing pain of open flesh against air greets him. He tries to raise his hand to the wound, to gauge how serious it is, but stops when a scream tears through his lungs.  
  
The groans further down the cavern fade, and don't return.  
  
Now that he's moved his arm, it's overtaken by stings and throbs, like electric shocks bordering a thousand volts traveling up the entire length of it. It's broken. It has to be.  
  
His mind dips away once again, just as the sound of scampering feet comes closer and closer.  
  
They don't sound human.  
  
With his right hand (of the arm that isn't broken -- bruised,  _definitely_  bruised, but not broken) he searches desperately for the hilt of his blade, and finds nothing. Panic courses through his veins. His search becomes frantic as he blindly scans the ground with his hand.  
  
That fall should've killed him. Instead, now a pack of monsters he could normally take on in his sleep was going to finish the job.  _Pathetic._  
  
He struggles to stay awake. Their footsteps are closer now: rushed and skittish, eager to sate their lust for blood. Exhaustion pulls on his very being, and when he tugs himself back, he dares not open his eyes.  
  
A nauseating breath dances across his skin. He can practically feel the hairs on his face shriveling up under the putrid stench, and he knows: this is it. This is how it ends.  
  
Quietly, a prayer to the Crystals he once believed in leaves his lips.  
  
His prayer is answered, though not with heavenly light. The monster that loomed over him disappears in a cloud of sulfur, and countless other shrieks bounce off the walls around him. He hears scampering claws, metal blades getting dragged along wet rocks -- too much to keep track of. But in between the shrill war cries of overgrown lizards, a certain sound stands out to him: the distinct simmer of black magic, burning as it sears through flesh.  
  
He can't keep his eyes open any longer.

 

 

*

  
He always knew he would end up in hell.  
  
How, you may ask? Well, it all started when he broke equipment during chemistry class to scare a group of girls -- a hot glass vial under a cold stream of water does wonders to get an  _explosive_  reaction from people -- as payback for making fun of him. Then there was that time he snuck alcohol onto school grounds to share with his fellow fencing students. Not to mention the numerous times he put salt in Nikolai's tea instead of sugar (on  _accident_ , it's the old man's fault for not labeling his jars). And let's not forget the time he coated his blade with duskwort, a highly soporific plant that can put anyone to sleep with a single brush against open skin; perfect for taking out a squad of guardsmen he had vowed to lead and protect.  
  
Yep, actions like that don't really get you through the pearly gates.  
  
Never did he expect hell to smell like...  _this_ , though. He catches a faint whiff of rubbing alcohol, salve, herbs, and a myriad of other things that remind him of hospitals and all the reasons he's never going anywhere near one.  
  
With every attempt to remember what happened, a bolt of pain shoots through his spine and shakes the foundations of his mind. His body is convulsing -- he can feel it with every shake against the coarse cavern walls. Water is soaking into his shirt, and he forces himself to focus on it. It's cold against his back. The fabric sticks to his skin as it inches down ever so slowly.  
  
... What happened?  
  
The smell returns, almost amplified.  
  
In an instant, it comes back to him: his foot slipping on the balustrade, the Fire Crystal's light fading as he descended further and further into the darkness. The jagged rock he hit his arm on as he tumbled down, full-force and head-on. The water rushing into his lungs, after years of falling and wishing for it to end sooner rather than later. Blood on his lips, brain stirred into a stew, limbs screaming in agony. Monsters heaving by his neck, acid on their tongues and only bad intentions on their breath as they loomed over him. And finally, a hint of sulfur in the air, before he passed out again for who knows how long.  
  
He should be dead. Who could survive a fall like that? So why could he open his eyes, why could he taste the copper of blood on his lips and why would he be stupid enough to feel even remotely safe? Why was he still  _alive_?  
  
 _... He could open his eyes._  
  
When he pries them open, darkness greets him -- as does the outline of a gauntlet, cupped and delicately holding a strange concoction of roots and herbs under his nose.  
  
Panic courses through Janne, and without thinking he pulls up his leg, kicking forward as hard as he can. Pain flares through his feet as it connects with metal. Seething, he draws his eyebrow and scrunches his nose to stop himself from crying out.  
  
The gauntlet stumbles back ( _stumbles?_ ) and tries to collect itself. Scraping sounds of metal against stone fills his ears. A nearby oil lamp shines a weak glow and in it, he can make out the vague silhouette of a person. They push themselves upright, and any semblance of safety Janne felt before goes up into smoke.  
  
Frantically, he looks around. His arm... his arm is in bandages and a make-shift sling. The blood clouding his vision has disappeared. Across his lap lays his coat, in tatters. His sword... where is his sword?  
  
A sound, somewhere between a groan and a frustrated growl, tears him from his thoughts.  
  
The person has drawn to their full height now. Underneath the flickers of light, he can make out more details and finds the stranger is, as a matter of fact, completely covered in armor: head to toe, even. Not an inch of skin is showing. Against the darkness, they could blend in completely if they so desired.  
  
And then he recognizes who, precisely, he nearly kicked in the nuts.  
  
... Oh, he's  _fucked_.  
  
As a child, he often overheard the adults gossiping; whispering among themselves about the dark knight of Eternia. How he could best most of the country's soldiers in battle; how he bled and bled and never admitted defeat -- how he was only a kid.  
  
Obviously, he wasn't a kid anymore. But for some reason, their words had stayed with him all the way into adulthood.   
  
Escape isn't an option anymore. Maybe he could stand a chance if he was well, but not in this state: his arm throbs as an irritating reminder. Instinctively, he settles into a defensive position as the dark knight --  _Alternis_ , his name is Alternis, right? -- draws in closer. The light is so weak, shadows are licking at his silhouette and he nearly seems to disappear into the darkness.  
  
All he can hear is his heart pounding violently in his ears.  
  
He guesses the concoction lays sprawled around their feet, from the way the knight's gaze keeps scanning the ground. Then, he scoffs -- at least, it sounds like a scoff. Thanks to the helmet echoing the sound and his own brain having been turned into soup, that noise could've been anything. Still, Janne doesn't relax his posture.  
  
''What the fuck was in that?'' he asks (croaks, is more like it), vocal cords raw. He struggles to use his voice. He doesn't know when he last spoke.  
  
It stays silent for a beat. Then...  
  
''Wake-up bell flowers. The pollen is quite effective in stirring someone from slumber.'' His voice sounds hollow behind the metal, unamused. ''Also, that's no way to thank the one who saved your life. Or is it common courtesy in Gathelatio to kick your savior in the abdomen?''  
  
''Only if they're an Eternian  _snake_.''  
  
A thousand thoughts race through him as the dusty perfume of bell flower settles into the crevices of his mind and yanks it back into place. In this state, he can't defend himself. His life is entirely in Alternis' hands. The prospect is enough for invisible hands to wrap around Janne's neck and choke out any last breath of air.  
  
That fall should've killed him. Now, he wishes it did.  
  
There is a silver flicker by Alternis' hip -- his rapier, strapped by the hilt next to the man's own blade. He swallows audibly, attempting to will the taste of stomach acid and coppery blood from his tongue. Tentatively, he gives a stroke over his teeth: nothing chipped. At least if he'll die now, he'll die with his chompers intact. Lucky him.  
  
Seconds tick by as he waits for Alternis to make his next move. He'll take anything at this point: a smack across the cheek, getting yanked up by the collar --  _anything_  to show him what he's made of; show him that all the tales and gossip making its rounds around town was true.  
  
... But he doesn't.  
  
The silence remains, steadfast. Beads of water from the ceiling drip down onto his temple, and he has to suppress a chill quivering through his body. When he first regained consciousness, everything was warm, humid and, dare he say it, borderline pleasant -- well, before he realized his arm was broken and he was five seconds away from becoming dinner. But now, everything was cold and damp.  
  
Distantly, he hears water flowing, cascading into pools and puddles.  
  
He looks up again when Alternis comes back to life (he stood so silently -- if Janne didn't know any better, he would've guessed it was only an empty suit of armor) and takes a seat on a flat rock to his right. His muscles don't move an inch as he sits with his elbows resting atop his legs, gazing at Janne, expression indecipherable from behind the metal.  
  
''Can you act calmly now?''  
  
His brows raise, incredulous, but before he can snide back, Alternis continues.  
  
''I see. Don't worry, I've got all night.''  
  
Soundlessly, Alternis leans his back against the cavern wall and crosses one arm over the other. Once he realizes he's getting nothing more out of the man, Janne coughs into his fist to relieve the scratchiness in his throat -- but he doesn't dare let the tenseness in his shoulders fade for even a second.  
  
''Going by your warm welcome, I presume you know who I am?''  
  
Janne can't help but let a condescending little laugh slip through. ''How could I not? Say, are little black lap dogs supposed to wander this far from home?''  
  
If he wants to show Janne the back of his hand for that comment, he does a good job in resisting the urge. There's not even a twitch as Alternis observes him. Teeth clenched, Janne returns the stare, focusing his gaze into the seemingly bottomless sockets of his helm. The light can't reach there.  
  
It takes another moment for Janne to calm himself, just marginally. He can't understand why he's here. The Empire has established itself as an enemy to the Duchy. They're powerful, they stop at nothing and they should be feared -- and yet, he's being treated like a toddler mere milliseconds away from throwing the temper tantrum of the ages. What a joke. He could've left him to die, to bleed out and be forgotten and it wouldn't have mattered to anyone. But, he's here. Alive and in pain -- oh,  _oh_  so much pain.  
  
On second thought, maybe he did end up in hell.  
  
''Why'd you save me?'' Janne asks, because apparently his life doesn't matter enough for his fellow generals to come look for him -- so why should it matter to him? What reason could he  _possibly_  have that would justify keeping him alive?  
  
A few seconds pass before he's given an answer.  
  
''Maybe I am a fool for deciding to spare your life. Anyone else associated with the Duchy would've left you to rot. But, lucky for you, I am not them.''  
  
''Oh, you're a fool, alright.'' Janne can't help himself: the words tumble out before he realizes they left -- but he doesn't regret it whatsoever. ''What kind of moron patches up the enemy and then tries to act like a friend?''  
  
With or without him, the Empire would achieve its goal. The world would disintegrate into nothingness, and they could start over. They could all start over. Even if Alternis left him to starve here in this humid cavern, abandoned him for monsters to rip him into a thousand little pieces or decided to drive a sword through his chest himself, the end would remain the same. He's gonna die either way. There is no reason behind Alternis' actions.  
  
Unless... he didn't save him out of the goodness of his heart.  
  
''What do you want from me?'' he asks.  
  
A low hum resounds behind the metal. ''You catch on quick.'' He rises to his feet and approaches Janne, bending forward till they're eye-to-eye. ''I might not harbor the same ill-will as my colleagues, but I am on par with them in strength. So, if I were you, I wouldn't try anything funny.''  
  
''Get to the point.''  
  
Another moment passes before Alternis answers him, but it's not an answer Janne was expecting.  
  
''Your compliance.''  
  
Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. ''What?'' he mutters eloquently.  
  
''I request you comply,'' Alternis says, more clearly this time. ''I don't know if you realize this, but you're a wanted man. If you weren't associated with Her Holiness, I can guarantee your fate would be much worse than being stuck with me.''  
  
''What am I wanted for?'' Janne asks, perhaps to clarify it for himself -- perhaps to piss Alternis off even further. He doesn't even know it himself at this point.  
  
But Alternis merely extends his fingers one by one, counting. ''Disruption of the peace, treason, attempted murder -- the list goes on.'' He wraps a hand around the hilt of his blade and pulls it from its sheath. Magic of a burgundy color springs to life around Alternis' palm and curls around the metal -- like flames, they dance in the reflection of his armor and come close enough to lick at Janne's jaw. He can't restrain the scowl taking a hold of his face. The blade is blocking his only means of escape, and Alternis seems well aware of it. ''But, right now... I want you to open a way into that flying fortress.''  
  
''Just kill me already.''  
  
Alternis tilts his head, just slightly. ''I only will if you run off.''  
  
''And what if I refuse?''  
  
As if it's obvious, Alternis responds: ''Then, I'll withdraw from your case, and your fate will be entirely up for the Grand Marshal to decide. He might find another use for you.''  
  
This time, Janne remains quiet. As if sensing the change of demeanor in the air, Alternis stands and dispels the magic swirling around his sword. The weak glow of the oil lamp returns, and in the light, he can just barely make out the droplets of steam gliding down the man's armor. He turns around to pack up his belongings, and Janne takes this opportunity to release his breath.  
  
Now that the adrenaline is fading, the pain returns. Invisible hands yank on his muscles to their breaking point, they squeeze the last bit of air from his rib cage, and they try to tear his pelvis apart like a wishbone at a feast. He already knows walking (or even just  _standing_ ) would hurt like hell. He isn't looking forward to it in the slightest.  
  
Tentatively, he pulls his leg to his chest, gauging if he could stand on it -- and seethes sharply at the sensation of an imaginary pair of pliers trying to break open his hip, halting immediately. Alternis whips his head around at the sound of movement.  
  
''Sit down,'' he commands. With a scowl, Janne does so.  
  
A deafening silence hangs in the air around them while Alternis continues packing. It's agony to wait.  
  
''We move out by midnight,'' he finally says, with a tone that invites no discussion. ''And you're coming along, whether you like it or not.''  
  
Many things go through his head at this point. How his back is to the wall, in every sense of the word, first and foremost. How death's sweet embrace seems like a nice way out at this point, and how he can't help but question if it'd be worth it to survive, if only for the chance he'd make it back to the Empire and would be able to assist them in their final hours -- but also how they didn't come for him: just another expandable cog in the greater scheme of things. And finally, what it would've been like, had he met Eternia's most skilled, most _fearsome_  swordsman under any other circumstances.  
  
It isn't normal, for him to be able to think about his own death this lightly. He isn't normal.  
  
''You're a fucking idiot if you think I'm gonna do anything you say.''  
  
He expects anything from Alternis: a threat; a bargain; a sword to the throat. But he doesn't do any of that. Instead, he tilts his head to the other side, only slightly.  
  
''We can work something out.''

 

 

*

  
The shift from inside to outside is jarring.  
  
Even with compression bandages, the most basic of healing items  _and_  a handful of potions, it is still agonizing to stand on his own legs. His entire body screams out in pain and exhaustion with every step, but there is little Janne can do to stop it. So, he focuses on the road stretching out before them, and the dim red of Alternis' blade acting as a guiding light through the dark.  
  
He keeps his coat (bloodied, drenched, and tattered) around his shoulders in a meager attempt to keep the chill out. It doesn't help.  
  
Every time his foot connects to soil, an array of needles puncture mercilessly at his hip. He just wants to sit down -- but even  _sitting_  hurts,  _standing up_  hurts. If he didn't have to keep up the pace for that  _maniac_ , he'd probably be shuffling along at a millionth of a mile an hour. He wishes he could. It's too painful, it hurts it hurts  _it hurts_ \--  
  
Alternis halts in his step.  
  
Janne pauses and chances a glance to the road ahead. He can barely even tell tree from sky -- their bare arms twist into the dark storm clouds high above. Silently, Alternis extends his pointer finger into the dark. When he strains his eyes, Janne can make out the vague outline of...  _something_ , hidden in between the trees.  
  
''We're almost there,'' Alternis says. The howling wind makes it near impossible to hear him, and he takes off again before Janne can protest. ''Step lively.''  
  
When he shuffles closer, it becomes more clear just what he's looking at: an airship, dark as the night. Golden decorations curve around the balustrades and poles, doubling as anchors for lines of rope to loop through, keeping the blimp in place. The red glow fades, and so does what little light he could use to survey the ship.  
  
''Get on.''  
  
Somewhere deep inside, he dredges up words he's heard a million times before -- they used to exasperate him; now, they only succeed in churning his stomach, pushing up bile he can only stubbornly force down again.  
  
''I'm afraid of heights.''  
  
Something reminiscent of a huff comes from the helm. ''Nice try.''  
  
The overhead lights flash to life once they board -- bright, overwhelming, like a beacon in the dark. Up close, the golden adornments take shape: vipers twisting around one another, fangs bare, gaping maws just out of reach of engraved hightail deer. Underneath the chiaroscuro light, their eyes blink in terror.  
  
He takes one look at Alternis from the bow where he was forced to sit, right at the front of the ship; he doesn't seem like the type to care much for gaudy decorations. The vessel is large, though -- larger than he had anticipated.  
  
''So, what are you compensating for?'' he asks. Alternis barely gives him the time of day, instead focusing on the control panel, flipping a number of switches with practiced ease.  
  
''I'm going to throw you overboard if you keep talking.''  
  
A tremor shakes through the ship.  
  
His hand shoots out toward the balustrade as they take off, holding on for dear life. He never was a fan of turbulence.  
  
Another rumble, and the engine springs to life with a roar. The lights flicker out with the next tremor, like a candle getting snuffed, and soon only the vibrant glow of the skystone behind Alternis is all the light they have. Gales whip around his hair the higher they climb. Banners with the Duchy's insignia dance violently in the wind. It becomes harder to breathe. His coat shifts around his shoulders. There's something pressing against his back. His eyes widen.  
  
 _His gun._  
  
 _Alternis didn't take away his gun._  
  
Hastily, he changes his expression to something more... downtrodden. Let Alternis believe he has given up all hope. Oh, poor him. Captured by a Duchy general. Woe is he.  
  
Then, the elated buzz sets in. If he felt unable to breathe before, now he could inhale half the sky. With the fresh air, it's easier to piece everything together. The fire crystal's chamber, what first appeared to him as a bottomless pit, was actually connected to geyser grotto -- but not entirely. Had he fallen only a foot or three in any other direction, he would've most likely smashed his skull open on jagged rocks and pierced the rest of his body on stalagmites. What a way to go.  
  
But that didn't happen. Lucky him.  
  
The bitterness of being left behind still taints his tongue. How much is six years of dutiful service worth? Not much, apparently.  Or else, they would've come for him. They could've taken down the walking, talking tin can without lifting much more than a finger.  
  
He can't afford to lift less than a finger if he wants to take him out --  or, at least make his escape. Add to the fact that he took a nap in a pool of water: the sulfur in his gun's barrel won't ignite even if he says a little prayer.  
  
But guns are fairly new technology -- and he always was a pretty decent actor.  
  
What did they use to preach, again?  _'Always treat a gun as if it's loaded'_ , right? Even Alternis must've heard that saying.  
  
With the scrape of a throat, Alternis effectively pulls him from his thoughts. His downhearted facade falls, just for a moment, when he looks up at the man. Oh, the poor thing. He has no idea that what goes around, comes around.  
  
''We'll be visiting a colleague of mine,'' begins Alternis, gaze never leaving the pitch-black skies ahead. ''Ever since the...  _fiasco_  in the Sanctum, the Duchy and Orthodoxy have worked tirelessly to track down members of your organization.''  
  
He can't help the huff brushing past his lips. He was just starting to appreciate the silence. ''Well, you found one of 'em. Congratulations.''  
  
''I certainly did. Sadly, in this state, you are more a liability than a boon to me. Your wounds slow you down, and you're a wanted man, to boot. I'd be stupid to waltz around with a criminal in broad daylight.'' His chin tilts down, empty sockets boring holes into Janne -- Janne, who can barely suppress his stare as the blinking lights of the control panel bounce off the metal. His movements are precise and regulated, like a ball-jointed doll pulled into position. ''Thankfully, my colleague still owes me a favor. Lucky you.''  
  
Lucky him, indeed.  
  
After what feels like hours of winds rushing past his ears, seemingly getting colder by the minute, they disembark near Yunohana and stumble through the front gates under the veil of night. Not a soul wandered the streets at this hour -- which, Janne was loath to admit, might be a good thing. He must look like a pretty picture right now: hair soaked in blood and matted to his temple, arm in a make-shift sling, and an expression so sour it could probably make flowers wilt with a single glance.  
  
He hears the sound of Alternis unsheathing his blade, and the distinct simmer of magic alighting their path; he holds his sword as if it is an extension of himself, and weighs little more than a toothpick. It's admirable -- in the way anyone would respect another swordsman's skills. Time and again, he's caught word of the dark knight's feats and accomplishments: came from nothing, shot up through the ranks, currently right-hand man... yep, the guy's been making a name for himself.  
  
Yet, it is not a name that can impress him.  
  
Another billowing wind howls through the streets, bringing with it a handful of white crystals that drift down gently toward the streets, melting the moment they touch cobblestone.  
  
Alternis doesn't appear to be affected by the sudden cold front. His pace doesn't falter -- not even to allow Janne to catch up. A new collection of needles tortures his side as he strains himself to fall in step with the sadist.  
  
''It's not much farther now.''  
  
With every step he takes, the gun strapped to his middle becomes heavier,  _heavier_ , until it is the only thing on his mind. He can get himself out of this. He can get himself out of this mess,  _dammit_.   
  
He doesn't  _need_  anyone else.  
  
Before he realizes it, they've stopped before a beaten door. Red paint is chipping off the wood grain, the color just barely visible under the faint glow leaking down the first-floor window. Snowflakes cling stubbornly to the ends of his hair. And in the silence, he could hear it clear as day:  _laughter_.  
  
With the swift turn of a key, Alternis unlocks the door and orders Janne to step inside before locking up again. It's pitch black inside -- with the hand that doesn't feel abused from falling a height he doesn't even want to think about, he snaps his fingers; again, and again, until a minuscule orb of white light balances precariously on the tips of his thumb and index finger. Though flickering, it is enough to show a set of stairs hugging the wall, leading up.  
  
Alternis brushes past him and marches up the stairs. The agonizing groans of a wooden door fills his ears before it grows quiet.  
  
Not for the first time that night, his mind spins at a million miles an hour. The orb dances, growing and shrinking wildly (he never was that good at magic to begin with) and eventually becomes so small it doesn't reappear.  
  
There's a way out of this. He has his gun. Everything will be fine. Can he go back to the Empire? Does he even want to? He mulls the questions over, and doesn't find an answer.  _Anger_  and  _hurt_  fills every crevice of his lungs, but there's another emotion -- something he doesn't want to admit. It's laughable, pitiable; why would he ever feel an inkling of  _relief_?  
  
The laughter stops.  
  
He searches for the lock behind him, finds it, tugs at it with all his might, and suppresses every emotion that tries to steal his breath. Many emotions... but not fear. Never fear.  
  
A beam of light falls across his eyes, just as the sound of footsteps wanders down into the room.  
  
''Ah, there's my little patient.''  
  
The light shifts. Blinking the spots from his eyes, he can see a woman on the top steps wrapped in a white housecoat with half the buttons undone in a disorderly fashion, skipping a few here and there. Her blonde hair is mussed and springing out of its curls in a few places -- and then, he recognizes who he has before him.  
  
Holly Whyte.  _Of course._  This day couldn't get any worse.  
  
Specks of dust float in the light. She closes her palm, veiling the room in darkness once again, and disappears back upstairs.  
  
''Come on, then. Get  _up_  here.''  
  
Without another word, he follows behind. They step into a foyer-like room -- shoes litter every corner, coats hang from every available surface, and tiny moths swarm around the overhead lanterns. Alternis is awaiting them at the top, arms crossed, and closes the door to the basement.  
  
''You caught me at a pretty bad time, you know,'' Holly says. Though her words seem annoyed, there is no sign of malice in her voice. If Janne were to squint his eyes, he could almost say she was smiling.  
  
He breathes a huff through his nose. ''It wasn't my idea.''  
  
She clicks her tongue and glances at Alternis, who diverts his face from her piercing eyes. ''So I gather.''  
  
Holly ushers the both of them through another door, and they emerge into a small living space. Few lamps are on, but it's enough to make sure he won't stand on the bits and bobs strewn about the carpet. Apparently, the word 'cleaning' is a foreign concept to her.  
  
Alternis moves past him and takes a seat on the sofa. If Janne could, he'd deliver a kick against his shins.  
  
With a hand on his shoulder, Holly leads him to a nook by the kitchenette -- its counters are overflowing with dirty pots and cutlery. She sits him down by a circular breakfast table and proceeds to flit across the room, drawing the curtains with perhaps more force than was necessary.  
  
Even though he's fallen from one lion's den into another, it feels good to have some distance between him and the dark knight again. For a moment, no matter how short, he can let the tenseness fade from his shoulders.  
  
... And then Holly plops down next to him, poking and prodding him in all the wrong places.  
  
''Well, Alternis,'' she begins, ''this must be quite a story. Why don't you inform us how exactly you came upon this Empire brat?''  
  
 _Us?_  
  
... There is a shadow in the corner. Just out of the lamp's glow stands a woman, eyes boring holes into his skull from across the room. Her clothes are disheveled, but it doesn't matter --  she could make men thrice her size turn tail and run by her murderous glare alone. A slight shiver makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. He doesn't recognize her, but going by her company, he can make a pretty good guess on whose side she stands.  
  
Oh, joy. The Gods have smiled down upon him today, haven't they? Sharing a space with not one, not two, but  _three_  Eternian officers. His body might not have died, but his soul sure has.  
  
''Does it matter?'' Alternis answers, metal-clad fingers picking lint off the sofa's arm.  
  
''It does when you disturb us at two in the morning, and have the guts to ask for multiple favors.''  
  
''It's not a very interesting story.''  
  
The mystery woman emerges from her corner and steps across the carpet so lightly as if she were floating above it. She moves to the kitchenette, and pours boiling tea into one of the few clean cups. Janne follows her movements with his eyes, and catches a faint red smear on the corner of her lips. Blood? No... lip stick? She leans over the table, and places the cup before Holly.  
  
''Thank you, Kikyo. Now,'' she turns back to Alternis, ''I think we deserve an explanation, don't we? No matter how uninteresting you claim it to be.''  
  
Kikyo turns her head to Janne, slowly -- he stares back, unwilling to shrink in on himself like before. A few tension-filled seconds pass. Without a change in expression, she begins to pour him a cup, as well.  
  
Weird. All Eternians are  _so_  weird.  
  
A sigh comes from the helm; tired, as if he hasn't slept right in years. ''I found him in Geyser Grotto, bruised and mangled, and about to become dinner to a group of monsters.''  
  
''And hypothermic,'' interjects Holly, pressing a hand to his forehead. ''He's cold as ice, the poor thing.''  
  
''Don't call him that,'' says Alternis. Then, the helm turns in his direction, and Janne doesn't have to be psychic to know he's looking to continue his interrogation. ''Now,'' he begins, voice low, ''what  _were_  you doing in those caves? The Fire Crystal was miles above us, and I can't imagine what use the Empire has for hot water.''  
  
Out of spite, perhaps, Janne manages to dig up a grin. ''Don't worry about it.''  
  
''Whatever it is you tried to do, I presume you failed.''  
  
''Oh, really? What gave you that idea?'' He swallows his words when Holly gives him another prod, right in a spot that's especially sore. Sharply, he sucks in air through his teeth.  
  
Holly lets out a laugh. ''Look at you two, already getting along!''  
  
''Don't make me reconsider bringing him here,'' Alternis growls, pointing an accusing finger at Holly. He's close to ripping the sofa's arm off.  
  
''Oh please,  _I beg of you,_  reconsider. I'm losing precious sleep here, Alternis.'' She uses one hand to rub at her temple, and the other to shoo Alternis away. ''Fine, fine. Leave us be. There's a bed upstairs, go rest up. I think I'll be here for a while.''  
  
Without another word, Alternis rises to his feet and disappears through the door. That leaves him and the two women, and truth be told, he isn't ecstatic about that prospect. As if on cue, Holly moves in closer and begins to prod him in multiple places, only halting momentarily whenever he hisses in pain. Clicking her tongue, she passes along her empty cup to Kikyo, and pulls out a pink crystal, hanging by a string.  
  
''Don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my own heart,'' she says. ''I only agreed to this because Alternis is such a charming young man --  and he's got a  _lot_  of explaining to do.''  
  
Without warning, she reaches over to untie the knot of his make-shift sling. Janne recedes apprehensively, a strange coiling in his stomach.  
  
''Not every day that you patch up the enemy?''  
  
''Believe it or not, you're not the worst person I've ever healed.''  
  
''What a shame.''  
  
Another laugh ripples through her. ''I suggest you don't take that tone much with him. Even his patience has limits -- as does his sense of humor.'' The chain dangles from her grasp -- the crystal circling along above his elbow, giving a bright glow.  
  
First, he feels nothing. Then, an excruciating pain as his bones move back into place underneath his skin, melding together as if nothing had ever happened. There is relief, but also soreness when the wound colors purple and blue, skin stitching itself together and leaving only soft scarring lines where there once were gaping gashes. He digs his fingernails into the table.  
  
''Stop making that face. It doesn't hurt that bad --  not as bad as breaking it did, I'd like to bet.'' She moves the crystal to his hip, moving it in circles over the bruise.  
  
Kikyo watches on from atop the kitchen counter, quietly, before jumping off to flit about the kitchen. Preparing a meal, by the looks of it.  
  
''Now, aren't you a little young to be taking over the world?'' At his gaze, she continues. ''Word of your deeds spread fast -- only, not to the common folk. If I didn't have the feeling Alternis wanted you for something, I would've slit your throat myself. Really-'' she places a finger under his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye, ''-you should count yourself lucky he found you.''  
  
He chooses to focus on the crystal, swinging from side to side. All of it still feels like a bad dream: falling, flying, crashing, burning and breaking. Just because he evaded the worst possible outcome today doesn't mean he'll manage to do so next time.  
  
''Now, where's that bite gone? At least give me a reason not to cure you completely.''  
  
His gaze flicks up. ''You're not?  
  
''Hah! Of course not. It'll give you a fighting chance.''  
  
''Maybe I want a fighting chance.''  
  
''And I gather you want a dying chance, too? I wouldn't pick a fight with him if I were you. Verbal, yes. But physical?'' She shakes her head, like a mother berating their child. It's sickening. ''You're stupider than you look.'' Without another word, she reaches into a medical kit presented by Kikyo, and pulls out a band-aid: pink, and decorated with candy hearts. She places it on the bridge of his nose, smoothing out the sticky ends with her thumbs.  
  
''Better?''  
  
He isn't. Quite the opposite, in fact, but he doesn't say so. Even if he would, no one would listen to his words. So instead, he pushes up the corners of his lips with all his might, plastering on a forced smile.  
  
''Never been better.''


	2. Chiaroscuro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, any feedback is greatly appreciated! ( ò vó)b

Three hours isn't enough.  
  
Alternis stirs from slumber with a crick in his neck, a rumble in the depths of his stomach, and the distant memory of having slept much,  _much_  better on multiple occasions. Mouth as dry as the Harena desert, he drags his tongue along his teeth and stretches out: a cacophony of numerous joints popping back into place fills his ears.  
  
He releases a sigh, and inhales a lungful of air. There's something crisp on the breeze: he must not have noticed the partly open window as he stumbled into bed some hours earlier. It's cold, brushes freezing fingers along his heated cheeks and for a moment, he can pretend he's in Eternia with its never-ending Winter chill. In a way, it's comforting.  
  
For a handful of minutes more, he lays there: still, silent, and letting his current situation sink in before he has to drag himself out from under the covers and face the day.  
  
None of it feels real yet. Warding off the monsters, soaring through the ink-black skies, arriving here... and all with Janne Angard, traitor to the Crystalguard in tow.  
  
In his line of work, there is nothing unusual about coming into contact with a whole slew of unsavory types: bandits, thieves, rogues... the list goes on -- and he's certainly dealt with his fair share. But a  _traitor_...  
  
Well, he shouldn't be too surprised. Edea was a traitor, once. Yet, her time spent mingling with the supposed enemy only served to open her eyes, strengthen her ideals, and help bring her newly acquired knowledge back to them (undeserving as they were), to shape the Duchy into what it is today.  
  
So far, all Janne's deflection has achieved is turning the Crystalguard into a fractured mess of factions.  
  
... What in the  _world_  was that man thinking?  
  
His arm is a welcome weight across his eyes in an attempt to ground himself. Once more, he inhales deeply: the stench of sweat, motor oil, and dried monster blood greets him. Perhaps he should take a quick shower. Would Holly and Kikyo mind? Technically, he is a guest here, so the least he can do is ask.  
  
And, at the  _very_  least, he should be thankful they had a place for him to rest his eyes for a wink. Beggars can't be choosers, after all.  
  
Sadly, the prospect of a possible shower doesn't hold his attention for long: it wanders off to the task at hand. The next logical step seems close at hand: escort Janne to Central Command, where he'll be detained and kept for the sole purpose of wrangling information out of him. Tossing his head further back and deeper into his pillow, Alternis acknowledges with a sigh that he's not even halfway home yet, and already Janne has managed to get under his skin. What does that say about him: right-hand man to the Grand Marshal, completely unable to upkeep authority with every turn?  _Pathetic._  
  
Janne doesn't even pretend as if his freedom has been stripped from him. Maybe that's what pisses him off most of all.  
  
More vile words queue up at his mind's forefront, jumping for their chance to swim around his soul and boil a bitter brew in the pit of his stomach; biting (''you have to do better, you have to  _be_  better''), acidic (''why would the Lord Marshal have faith in  _you_?''), tumbling and toiling and... ticklish?  
  
A curious sensation trails up his cheek, travels across the bridge of his nose... then furiously teases his nostrils. He scrunches his nose, draws his eyebrows,  _what in the-?_  
  
''Ah- _choo_!''  
  
He launches up from the mattress, a loud sneeze speeding out of his lungs. His eyes, bleary and bewildered, scan the room in a frenzy: he's just in time to catch Kikyo tucking a soft, pink feather back under her hairband. She stares at his frazzled, messy state with unimpressed eyes. Her hands, previously messing with her hair, begin to move when she's certain she has his attention -- as awful as his attention is this early in the morning. She taps her chin with the tips of her fingers, periwinkle morning light bathing her manicured hands in a soft glow.  
  
_''Good morning,''_  she signs.  
  
A sigh forces its way past his lips. Looking down at himself, he is suddenly acutely aware of his state: shirt rumpled, hair a dirty, greasy mess, and caught reclining under a hot-pink mountain of blankets -- not his proudest moment, he'll have to say. The wariness in his bones whenever he strips himself of his outer, metal layer remains stubbornly, even in Kikyo's company. A certain kinship always develops between people who'd rather keep to themselves... but even that wasn't enough to subdue the ghost of feeling naked.  
  
''Good morning to you, too.''  
  
Yeah, three hours  _definitely_  weren't enough.  
  
_''I take it you slept poorly?''_  
  
''As usual.'' His eyes sweep the room: the slightest bit of an early morning glow forces its way through a gap in the curtains -- it must just be starting to rise. A silver tray is set upon the duvet on the unoccupied side of the double bed, carrying a ceramic rice bowl decorated with lightly grilled salmon and a colorful array of vegetables, as well as a steaming cup of tea (a regular green blend, from the look of it).  
  
_''Your captive already ate,''_  says Kikyo, as if she already knew what he was going to ask. The motions of her hands are fluid, yet precise and controlled, likes branches bowing to the wind.  _''Holly kept watch over him while you both slept. Her healing tired him out.''_  
  
''Good.'' Alternis lets out a dry laugh, merely a huff. ''Maybe he'll be less of a pain today.''  
  
He pushes himself into a sitting position and pulls the tray onto his lap, pleased to notice Kikyo included a fork and spoon for him -- he could never quite get the hang of chopsticks, no matter how many times he made a fool of himself. Spearing a piece of sauteed bell pepper, he asks: ''So, what's the damage?'', and bites down, quickly following it with a spoonful of rice. He had to admit, this was a welcome change to a breakfast of coffee and  _only_  coffee.  
  
_''Broken ulna; badly pulled muscles in the pelvis area; bruised ribs; light concussion, and hundreds of smaller flesh wounds. I can't believe he's not dead.''_  
  
''You and me both.''  
  
Kikyo doesn't even flinch -- but he shouldn't be surprised, after knowing her for this long. This is merely another day on the job for her.  _''Holly mended his arm, most of the smaller wounds, and his muscles. She said he'll likely be limping for another month, but thought you wouldn't really mind.''_  
  
Alternis brings a piece of salmon to his mouth, and raises his brows. ''She thought correct.''  
  
It stays silent between them for a minute while he eats. The rich flavor of the fish dances on his tongue, and pairs wonderfully with the rice and vegetables. Kikyo always was exceptional at cooking dishes from her culture, and since he didn't get the opportunity to try them much, this was a rare treat. If anything, something good had come out of this visit.  
  
Once he's scraped out every last speck of rice, Kikyo begins to move again.  _''What are your plans going forward?''_  she asks, eyes seeming softer without her usual imposing makeup. He feels a little less stupid, now, at the realization he isn't the only one who's let down their guard.  
  
''I'll be escorting him to Central Command. Once there, I hope to get information out of him: locations of his colleagues, their names, how to board their flying fortress, and whatever else the Grand Marshal can think of.''  
  
_''Can't you fly yourself?''_  
  
''Sadly, no. Every last airship boarded by Central Command rapidly lost altitude when the Empire came to attack. Something about that fortress seems to have a negative impact on our skystones.'' He takes a sip from his tea. It's scalding, burns the inside of his throat as it pours down into the pit of his stomach -- and immediately, he can feel the tingle of magic play on his tongue, raw and blistering, as the muscle surface stitches itself back together and strength returns to his exhausted bones.  
  
Holly's magic.  _Of course._  It's almost as if she knew he would throw the cup's contents back without a second thought.  
  
The ghost of a smile pulls on Kikyo's lips.  _''I see. Then, I wish you good luck.''  
_  
At the sight of her lips quirking up, Alternis averts his gaze to the half-empty cup in his palms, forcing himself to ignore the heat seeping into the tips of his ears -- this reaction is stupid,  _completely_  stupid... but it eases his anxious mind for a moment, knowing she stands behind him in the days to come.  
  
''Thank you. I appreciate it.''  
  
She nods, fingers plucking at the fluffy collar of her housecoat. It seemed a tad too big on her, sleeves obscuring half of her dainty hands. The air turns heavier as he finishes off his tea.  
  
_''How is the Grand Marshal?''_  she asks when she releases her collar, hands uncertain.  
  
He doesn't blame her for her hesitance. After a rigorous rehabilitation from the events of three years past, the Lord Marshal took up the sword once more -- against doctor's orders, to boot. With every passing day, he became more and more like himself again... only for that wretched man of a Kaiser to bring him down to his knees once more.  
  
The white walls of Eternia's healing tower are a glaring memory in the back of Alternis' mind, having spent nearly a month there himself. It was agony to see the Lord Marshal in such a state, and being unable to do anything to help... but, the man never lost his vigor. He swore up and down that he would bring that entire organization to justice.  
  
... Perhaps that is why Edea left in such a hurry, in the middle of the night, leaving only a single note behind as way of saying goodbye.  
  
_'I'll be back soon,'_  she'd written at the end.  
  
Not even every last ounce of trust he has in her abilities, in her  _strength_ , could make his heart stop toiling with worry.  
  
''Still in recovery, I'm afraid,'' he says, after the silence becomes too much to bear. At the quiet hint of distress in her gaze and the pinch of her brows, he places a comforting hand on her shoulder. The tips of his fingers just barely brush against the creamy white fluff of her collar. Wetting his lips, he continues: ''He told me he wishes for you to remain here, on guard, and send out word immediately if you catch sight of any Empire members. You are his eyes in Eisen, Kikyo. He trusts you.''  
  
_''And it is very easy to lose that trust.''_  Her gaze is cold, boring into his own, but he knows it is only a veil to mask her concern for the ones she cares about. One doesn't need to know her for long to figure that out.  
  
He is almost disappointed when she takes his hand, gives it a squeeze, and ultimately places it back into his lap. As if finally noticing he's only in his undershirt, she rises abruptly and takes the tray into her hands. It's become a little brighter in the room. He's unsure if it's only caused by the rising sun.  
  
Before she goes through the door, she finds her voice: cautious, stilted from disuse, yet kind.  
  
''Be careful, Alternis.''  
  
She doesn't wait for his reply, and disappears back downstairs. He counts every soft footstep... until it's quiet again. Physically, it feels as if she'd never even been here. He can't say the same for mentally.  
  
The comforter is just as soft against his back as he remembers when he lets himself fall back down, hands dragging across his face. Rough hairs cling stubbornly to his jawline, his skin is oily... and he forgot to ask if he could take a shower.  
  
... Just a quick one, then. They won't mind.  
  
He has to crouch to stand under the shower head, but nonetheless, the warm water cascading across the arches of his back take a week's worth of theoretical hair-pulling down the drain, along with the usual grime you'd find on someone who's spent three weeks stumbling through dusty hilltops and sweating besides rivers of red-hot magma. Three weeks of trailing behind Edea,  _desperate_  to find her so he could offer his assistance (five heads are better than four, isn't it?) -- and three weeks of missing their group by a hair every. Single. Time.  
  
And then he found Janne.  
  
... Such an odd person. Sources claim he is a noble -- but, only on paper. No estate, no history to trace back to, no family or distant relatives, not even a second cousin twice removed. It was as if the Heavens had opened up and dropped him upon the face of Luxendarc with only one purpose: to stir up trouble. And oh, was he  _good_  at that. It seemed to be the  _only_  thing he was good at. And despite residing in Gathelatio, capital of snobs, he's retained a distinct accent reminiscent of factory workers in lower Florem (from which he himself has lifted quite the amount of coin, back in his younger years). Truly, all they were certain of was his occupation: one of three cavaliers tasked with leading the Gathelatian guard, and remaining by her Holiness' side... no matter what.  
  
Why would someone in such a high position throw it all away?  
  
But, while tugging through the knots in his hair, Alternis realizes he has neither the time nor the luxury to ponder about every little secret Janne hides from the world. He is a criminal, first and foremost -- and he will be brought before Lady Justice on his knees.  
  
Refreshed and with a new sense of determination, he whips open the bathroom door... and can feel part of his good mood sink through the floor.  
  
Holly is seated by the window.  
  
Letting out a low whistle at the sight of his undergarments, she says: ''Morning, you little ray of sunshine. I was afraid I wouldn't get to see your pretty face before you departed.''  
  
Oh, this is so,  _so much worse_  than being caught in his pajamas. What little remained of his good mood slips away through cracks in the floorboards, and is replaced by red-hot shame -- but either Holly doesn't notice, or pretends not to. Both options are equally infuriating.   
  
Ignoring the warmth in his ears, he doesn't grace her with a response and stalks over to the pile he'd thrown his clothes into, swiftly tugging on the same pants he's been sweating in all week.  
  
''As much as I love it, your face has seen better days.''  
  
He was loath to admit it, but she was right. One single shower will never be enough to wash away the perpetual exhaustion clinging to his eyelids.  
  
It's silent for a beat, and he takes the opportunity to pull his shirt on, his back turned to her. A tutting noise fills the air.  
  
''Really? Can't a girl make some idle chatter after having been kept awake all night?'' Her tone is teasing, her laughter easy and smooth. ''Where did you leave your manners, Alternis Dim?''  
  
''In Eternia,'' he mumbles.  _In the hospital room where the Grand Marshal is withering away._  
  
He pulls on his armor, piece by piece, slotting them back into place... and it feels like he's rebuilding the walls around himself. No matter what anyone might say, it is a comforting thought to be a guarded individual: none can pry into your inner machinations -- nothing of yourself is put on display to be judged.  
  
Before he can put on his helmet, the last brick in his walls, Holly clears her throat.  
  
''Kikyo caught me up on your situation. Are you gonna be able to handle that brat?''  
  
Finally, he looks behind him. Her curls spill across her shoulders like twin golden waterfalls, seemingly glowing in the flickering morning light as the curtains dance behind her in the breeze. A throw blanket that might've been a polar bear last year is wrapped firmly around her legs, which she's pulled up on the chair.  
  
The teasing lilt to her voice has vanished. Now, genuine care has taken its place.  
  
In a flash, he understands why Kikyo chose her.  
  
He grimaces, helmet sliding across his scalp. ''I've got no choice. But, I've dealt with worse.''  
  
''That you have. The Grand Marshal should count himself lucky with you around.'' Her expression shifts to something exasperated: brows pinched, mouth drawn in a line. ''I'm serious, you've been assisting him in ways not many of us can. Stop looking at me like that.''  
  
On instinct, his hand reaches for his face -- and finds only metal.  
  
''I don't need to see you to know what you're thinking,'' she laughs.  
  
_Of course._  No, no, it wasn't a lucky guess at all. But still... the ease with which she could read him was, for lack of a better word, nice. She paid attention to him,  _noticed_  things others might not -- but how could she not, having served under the Lord Marshal for over a decade?  
  
''Y-Yes, well-'' (he's stumbling,  _of course_  he's stumbling), ''-thank you for your hospitality.'' In a flurry, he starts to pack up the few belongings he'd brought along for the night, if only so he doesn't have to look her in the eye. ''If you have anything to relay, I'll carry the news to the Lord Marshal's bedside.''  
  
''No need. I'll be traveling back to the homeland in about a week myself.'' When he chances a glance, her brows furrow once more. ''If there's anyone who can aid in the Grand Marshal's rehabilitation, it'll be me.''  
  
''I'm certain he will appreciate it.''  
  
She tilts her head slightly, inquisitive. ''And I can expect to find you at Central Command?'' At his confirming nod, she stands, makes a show out of throwing the blanket across her shoulders, and beams a smile. ''Wonderful. I'm already looking forward to seeing your pretty face again.''  
  
''Don't count on it.''  
  
She laughs, voice velvety yet carefree, and disappears out the door with a flourish.  
  
Not even a minute later, he descends the stairwell to the first floor where, by the sound of it, the others all are. Minuscule moths rest their bodies against the ceiling lantern in the foyer, some bathing in the morning glow seeping through the window. Time is running out: soon, the streets will be overflowing with vendors, families and (most alarmingly) the city guard. They have to leave --  _now._  
  
When he enters the room, he is irked to find Janne is making himself a little...  _too much_  at home, lazily flipping through one of Holly's tabloid magazines. Whereas Alternis feels marginally well-rested, Janne looks as if he hasn't slept all night. His eyes flick up to him: half-lidded, shrouded in exhaustion, and a glare that could make children cry to top it all off. Holly sits across from him, polishing an array of crystal shards and gemstones.  
  
''Don't force tall, dark and handsome to ask you,'' Holly chides, rubbing a dark blue stone between a silk cloth, and turns her attention to Janne for a beat. ''Time to go.''  
  
Janne takes a short breath as if preparing to object -- then, his mouth snaps shut into a tight line and he rises to his feet, brows drawn, buttoning the ratty remains of his coat. Strange... but, there is no need to question it. Soon, they would arrive in Eternia, and Alternis could breathe again.  
  
Escort missions were never his favorite.  
  
... A chill runs down the length of his spine, and a voice in the back of his mind urges him to turn around.  
  
He finds Kikyo in the corner behind him, ghostly white makeup dusted onto every part of her face, holding a bag --  _his_  bag. He must've forgotten it upstairs.  
  
As he takes it from her, a clumsy  _'thanks'_  rolls from his lips (the corners of which curl up when she does a thumbs-up, and he tries for three entire seconds to decipher what word she's signing until it finally clicks).  
  
Holly eyes them as he opens the door to the foyer, Janne walking past him as if he isn't even there -- figures. ''Tell the Grand Marshal we said hi, you two,'' she says, halting Alternis in his tracks.  
  
A sneer comes from down the staircase, from a voice he'd rather forget, and an accent he could never. ''Why not? I'm sure he'd  _love_  to know we had a fun little sleepover here.''  
  
Holly rises to her feet and meanders over to him, her arms clad in white a stark contrast to his armor: dark as the night sky, a wall to keep out others... and yet, these two women have snuck their way inside.  
  
She wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders, squeezing hard.  
  
''This was only business, boys. Purely business.'' Releasing her grip on him, she guides him to the door with a hand pressed lightly on his shoulder. Her voice becomes softer, speaking words meant for his ears only. ''Feel free to swing by again under less stressing circumstances, Alternis. You already act like you live here, anyway.''  
  
If she could see his smile right now, he'd be teased relentlessly for it.  
  
''I'll keep it in mind.''

 

*

  
There is a limp in Janne's gait. Alternis sees it in the footprints before him: step,  _sliiide_ , step,  _sliiide_  -- before crushing the snow marks under his own feet. Traversing along a path rarely taken, they leave the city walls behind just as the sun finally climbs over the horizon's edge. They move slowly, steadily... and he'd have a problem with that, had they left even a minute later.  
  
Now, they're a safe distance from Yunohana's borders, and safely away from any guards.  
  
If memory serves him right, his ship should be somewhere around here, in a clearing between the trees. At this pace, they would reach it within mere minutes -- and he could begin preparations for the long, tiring flight home.  
  
He thought he would miss the snow but, with a hint of surprise, he realizes he only misses the cold gales of the Eternian mountains. Something serene has washed over the forest during the night in the form of ice crystals, melting in the early morning sun. His gaze trails from the blades of grass poking through the snow, up a crooked tree's bark, and settle on a cluster of white blossoms, their tips dusted in pink and cast in a soft orange glow.  
  
... Miss Lee would love it here.  
  
He lingers in his thought for a moment longer, appreciating the late Winter scenery: this view is unlike anything he can see from his bedroom window, after all.  
  
But soon, the silence between them, only broken apart by a distant songbird from time to time, sets him on edge. The tips of his fingers begin to itch with unease, and clenching his gauntlet does little to stop it.  
  
''Cat got your tongue?'' he asks Janne, and watches as he turns on his heel. ''I've barely heard a word from you today.''  
  
The unsightly gash that marred his temple has faded to a lighter pink, thanks to Holly's magic, yet it still cuts a fine line through his left brow. Around his shoulders, his coat appears as little more than a tattered rag, yet... his undershirt and pants seem mostly unscathed, compared to the main garment of his ensemble.  
  
... On closer examination, the fabric seems almost...  _singed_.  
  
''Why do you care?''  
  
Alternis swallows a lump down his throat. ''I don't.''  
  
''Then stop asking.''  
  
Without another word, Janne swivels back around to the overgrown path, limping -- yet leaving Alternis in his dust. A flare of irritation flickers in the pit of his stomach, but he snuffs it out before it can get the better of him. It isn't worth it to get angry. Not now, not at him. He's better than this.  _Isn't he?_  
  
After another moment of silent walking, the underbrush thins out, the trees becomes sparser... and  _finally_ , his ship comes into sight, streams of water lazily dripping down its metal arches, glittering in the sun's rays.  
  
He doesn't have much time to appreciate the clearing in daylight, though, as Janne practically hurries upon the deck and leans against a metal pole acting as support a fair distance away from the bridge.  
  
_This isn't right._  
  
Yet his arms and legs move as if on autopilot ( _get on board, turn the key, press the buttons_ ), and he doesn't stop. He is only imagining things ( _flick the switch, crank the handle_ ) -- only making things seem worse than they actually are.  
  
( _The engine roars to life._ )  
  
Then again, his intuition is  _never wrong._  
  
_... Click._  
  
''Step away from the controls, smart guy. Hands up.''  
  
When he turns, he finds himself staring into the dark depths of a gun's barrel, a steady hand resting on its trigger. Janne's other hand is wrapped around the pole, practically clinging, to remain steady on his feet. Dark shadows pull on every part of his face, and if he could make children cry with his glare before, now he could make their grandparents cower.  
  
Surprise shoots through his body, but it ebbs away soon after. Wouldn't anyone be a little shocked to have a gun turned on them suddenly? Now, let's think... what does he know about this particular weaponry?  
  
''Are you deaf?!'' Janne spits, breaking through Alternis' trance like nails on a chalkboard. ''Put your damn hands where I can see 'em!''  
  
Many expressions cross Janne's face then, in too quick a succession to follow -- but he manages to pick out the wide eyes, the flaring nostrils, the snarling lips... and can only chalk it up to desperation.  
  
(Have years of reading tacky detective novels skewed with his sensibility, or is it his anxious nature that forces him to over-analyze every change in expression? It doesn't matter. He releases the question from his mind as quickly as it appeared.)  
  
''Go ahead,'' says Alternis, watching as Janne's finger twitches on the trigger -- and he feels nothing, ''shoot me.''  
  
The wind brushes past them, carrying a distant songbird's tune. Janne doesn't move.  
  
''What are you waiting for?''  
  
Janne swallows audibly, the hands gripping the gun like a lifeline showing the first twitch of a tremble, and he sneers: ''What the fuck do you  _think_? Are you  _that_  stupid?''  
  
The flare in his stomach roars, sparking and coiling around till he can feel his magic wrapping around every last one of his fingers -- but he tamps it down with a shuddery breath. No matter how much this man steps on his toes or how much his voice grates on his ears, he won't let the magic at his disposal consume him. Not yet, anyway.  
  
Instead, he takes a step forward -- and another, and another.  
  
''People have told me I have a tendency to be daft.''  
  
With every step he takes towards Janne, the tremble in his hands worsens, as does his scowl deepens. He bares his teeth, yelling: ''Are you insane?!'' (His eyes dart to the swords by his side -- another click as he pulls down the trigger ever so slightly. A flock of birds rises from the canopy, cawing in distress.) ''What kind of  _idiot_  has a dea--''  
  
Closing the distance faster than light, Alternis surges forward, slamming his elbow into the side of the gun. It clatters onto the deck, but he pays it no mind. He spins his body around and shoves Janne against the pole behind him, digging his gauntlet into the sides of his neck. Futilely, he claws at Alternis' hand, kicks out with his legs, struggling and growling with all his might -- yet it's all for naught.  
  
The golden deer curl around the pole just above his crown, and their expressions mirror Janne's own.  
  
He tightens his hand, loosens it only when the color seems to drain from his face, and moves closer -- close enough so Janne could peer into the depths of his helm.  
  
''You have a lot of nerve, trying that,'' he says, voice low. ''Now, listen closely: I have  _very_  little patience for stunts like that.''  
  
''So you  _can_  lose your cool,'' Janne croaks, with a wobbly smile Alternis wishes he could rip off his lips. ''Good to know.''  
  
The gale dies down. The bird's tune returns.  
  
... Just before he turns blue, Alternis releases Janne. His body falls limp to the deck like a rag doll, hands flying to his throat, massaging the bruised skin as a string of coughs violently wrack through his body. Turning his eyes away, Alternis fetches the gun, turns it over in his hands twice...  
  
... and clicks on the safety lock.  
  
He turns his body and finds Janne's eyes on him. A line of drool flows down his chin across bruises old and new.  
  
But he doesn't feel sorry. He already is a little black lap dog in the man's eyes -- all he did was show even lap dogs bite when pestered enough times.  
  
Perhaps, out of spite, Alternis holds out an awaiting hand.  
  
''Your holster.''  
  
Janne's voice is raw and strained. ''Go suck a dick.''  
  
''Your  _holster._ ''  
  
He makes no move to comply, only rubs his throat, growling and groaning.  
  
Alternis clicks his tongue and drops his bag to the floor, fishing out a pair of manacles. ''Fine,'' he says, clasping one shackle around the pole, and the other around Janne's wrist. ''Be that way.''  
  
With his last strength, Janne tugs on the manacle. He looks like nothing more than a heap of skin and bone, covered in bruises and clad in torn garments. If he had gained any empathy from Alternis, it was all gone, now: melted in the morning light.  
  
He doesn't feel any pity towards that traitor.  
  
Not when his ship ascends from the shimmering sea of trees, three full days of flying ahead of him. Not when the wind turns upon reaching the imposing Eternian mountaintops. Not when the sun has gone to sleep, and he catches a green light coming from behind him: flickering wildly, unstable, not enough strength to soothe his own wounds -- and the groans that serve as a never-ending reminder of the actions he was forced to take.  
  
He doesn't feel any pity.


	3. He Knew Love

_Breathe in._  
  
Frostbite drains the remnants of warmth out of his ears and fingertips. Strong winds howl around him, viciously pelting snow against his sides. He stopped paying mind to both things two days ago -- or was it three? He isn't sure. He doesn't ask.  
  
_Breathe out._  
  
All he feels is contempt. Complete and utter contempt that boils and squeezes his heart dry, wraps around his lungs like thorned vines -- and all towards the man who's treated him like dirt for the better half of a week. The thought that maybe,  _just maybe_ , part of his situation is due to his own faults, flickers through him periodically. And every time without fail, he mulls it over, casts it aside, tentatively reaches out to it again, then stomps it into the far reaches of his mind.  
  
Pointless. Everything is pointless. The people he called comrades ( _friends_ , even) didn't aid him when he needed them the most. The simple life he had left behind seemed so far away now: so distant, it was foolish to think he could ever make it back.  
  
That's what he was. A fool. How freeing would it feel, to cast himself overboard right at this very second? Catch the wind, and release all the idiotic things he couldn't help but care about?  
  
His father would call him a stupid boy -- and he'd be right. Then, he'd proceed to list all the reasons his son was the most wonderful, shining star in all the universe.  
  
He'd be less right about that.  
  
Another gale whips at his hair. Just barely, he can make out the propellers' whir above the howling wind. It tears through the mountains like a foghorn, erratic. Distressed. A lonesome call for help.  
  
The light in his lap is a poor attempt at a source of warmth. Yet, it's all he can muster, so he'd drawn up his legs to shield it from the elements. Fire magic would be too unstable,  _especially_  in his hands. He'll make do. Just like he always does.  
  
At night, Alternis at least had the decency to move him to a small cabin inside the hull, bare besides a bed and chair. Yet during the daylight hours, he was forced to sit in his usual spot, chained up like a mutt and humiliated.  
  
Slowly, he raises his head from the little cocoon he's wrapped himself in. There's a pounding behind his temple -- and a cold brewing in his chest, no doubt. He blinks off the snowflakes that catch on his lashes.  
  
Alternis stands at the helm, steadfast.  
  
His rapier, strapped to the man's hip, glints in the flickering light above him -- taunting,  _tempting_. What a cruel joke to play on him. He'd rather die a thousand deaths than witness his mother's blade in the hands of that  _sadist_.  
  
His mother... mother, mother, mother...  
  
_Breathe in. Breathe out. Distract yourself._  
  
But he cannot think of anything else -- of  _anyone_  else. Her gentle laughter, the way she shone with honor and fighting spirit, and a comforting hold so strong it felt as if a pair of hands were coddling his very soul -- he missed all of it. Blueberry pie would never taste the same. Summers would forever feel different. He couldn't help but be wary around those with weak hearts.  
  
Still, he could envision her so easily, so  _clearly_ , seated on the porch in that old rocking chair, no longer able to spar with him -- so he took up arms against the wind, against the leaves that fluttered down in the breeze.  
  
He was growing out his hair that Summer, before his first year at Al-Khampis (the Empire had been nowhere on the horizon, back then: how different would his life be, if it'd never shown up?). It danced as he lunged with his blade, clung to his forehead in the humid weather, and refused to cooperate more and more.  
  
She'd said he looked just like his father.  
  
''The snow storm's too heavy.''  
  
The thunder of his thoughts is too loud. Something wet travels down the side of his nose. He hides his face in his arms again, feeling akin to anything but a steady rock; he is a coward, a failure,  _a loser_  -- and he knows exactly what his father would say upon hearing those words.  
  
Maybe that's what saddens him most.  
  
''Get up.''  
  
Alternis' voice (grating, sounding as if he hasn't slept right for the past decade) finally breaks through. The winds are softer, gentler, for some reason. And then he hears a click: the tell-tale sign of a single manacle's lock being undone.  
  
''There's an abandoned cabin with a fireplace a few minutes away,'' Alternis continues. ''Without the engine running, we'll freeze to death on this ship.''  
  
Silence.  
  
''Did you hear me?''  
  
_... Breathe. Breathe in and out, you stupid bastard._  
  
''Sadly.''  
  
Cold metal slips around his bare wrist, and swiftly, he's yanked up from the deck by the chain connecting the cuffs. A hiss slips through his teeth as he's roughly brought up onto his feet, joints popping and aching -- he wouldn't say some accomplished healer checked him over a few days ago. As far as he could tell, everything hurt nearly as worse as before.  
  
''Get used to this voice,'' Alternis replies. ''You'll be hearing it for a long time to come.'' It is all he says as he drags him off the ship into the barren wasteland called Eastern Eternia, with its snowbanks that stretch endlessly and its mountain paths that never see even a single ray of sunlight.  
  
The anger in his voice from a few days prior has dissipated and been replaced by indifference. It isn't that much of an improvement.  
  
When they emerge onto the mountain path, the sky is relentless as ever, pelting down more snow than he'd seen in all his Winters combined. A chill runs down his neck as some of the crystals find their way underneath his collar -- but Alternis doesn't appear shaken by the horrid weather, marching onward with his blade brandished as if it's a gentle Summer day.  
  
Flurries sweep across the ground in a seemingly never-ending fashion, but soon, a shadow in the vague shape of a cabin appears on the horizon, coming closer with every shaky step he takes into the storm.  
  
''Not even my ship can make it through this weather.'' Alternis' hand is still firmly grasped around the chain, and he turns his head to look at him, the curves and spikes of his helmet as expressionless as ever. ''You'll thank me once we're safely inside.''  
  
_Yeah, I seriously doubt that._  
  
The path widens, and soon, a vast field of white greets them. Dark grey clouds cover the entire expanse of the sky and yet, the moon's soft glow is still visible from behind them, making the snowy peaks glimmer with light. It's... kind of pretty. And for a moment, no matter how short, he feels an inkling of peace.  
  
And then he notices the headstone. And another. And another, and another, and another... veiled with frost, yet every single one shielding small, snuffed candles from the reigning blizzard.  
  
Something heavy sinks down to his stomach.  
  
He's heard the tales of Gravemark Village, of course. Everyone has. He's heard stories around the campfire during class outings, fabricated tales passed around by word of mouth alone, with the express purpose of having a girl press close to you, and for you to spout lofty promises of keeping her safe. Then there were the history lessons -- more accurate, sure, but still told in a biased manner. And finally, the truth: whispered to him over a cup of tea by Nikolai Nikolanikov himself, during his first week among the ranks of the Crystalguard.  
  
He isn't even that crazy about tea to begin with, but he drank it nonetheless. The old man always appeared so delighted to brew some for him.  
  
It all seems so far away now.  
  
The door handle to the cabin turns with surprising easy, and the door swings open to reveal the most uninviting place he's ever seen. Dark, dusty, spiderwebs on the ceiling -- yet Alternis waltzes in like it's home sweet home.  
  
_Weird_. Eternians (and  _especially_  this one) are  _so_  weird. He might never come to understand them.  
  
It's marginally less freezing inside. Only the cabin itself, though: not its occupants, as Alternis chains him to a shoddy old bed frame the moment he's stepped across the threshold. Delivering a kick against the pack Alternis dropped to the floor upon entering, Janne resigns himself to the dusty mattress with a huff.  
  
''Cut it out,'' commands Alternis, back turned to him, ''be glad you're not freezing out there.''  
  
On any other day, he'd snide in reply, but not now. He can't find the strength inside himself. So instead, he watches as Alternis loads the empty fireplace with cut logs the last occupant was gracious enough to leave behind.  
  
_Snap._  
  
Unlike Janne, who can summon forth the tiniest ball of light (a flickering, measly ball of light,  _but still_ ), when Alternis snaps his fingers, sparks fly. Again and again, like a pair of whetstones being struck together at full force.  
  
_Snap._  
  
The sparks grow into a flame that entombs his index finger and delicately, more delicate than Janne has ever seen him be, he moves his hand inside the fireplace's maw.  
  
For some reason, he is...  _entranced_  by this simple action. So many ways to light a fire: faster, more efficient ways -- and yet, the man deemed a few sparks to be more than enough.  
  
Then, movement in the dark catches his attention. He's able to pull his eyes away from the embers just in time to witness Alternis gripping the sides of his helmet. Before he realizes it, the helmet is off, and a single platinum-blond ponytail coils down across the spikes of his armor, catching stray snowflakes in the strands. He ruffles his bangs, rolls his neck... and turns to him.  
  
With a blood-red glare.  
  
The fire flickers to life, casting a glow upon his ghostly pale face and the myriad of scars marring his skin.  
  
''I'm afraid I haven't made myself entirely clear,'' begins Alternis, and  _oh Crystals_ , that voice sounds worlds apart from when it's confined to the hollow of his helmet: enunciated, words spoken like he's practiced a million speeches in a million mirrors yet never got the chance to stand before a crowd. High and mighty, too, as if he truly believes he has the high ground and no one will come to kick him off his throne.  
  
Janne could kick him off there on any other day -- and he'd kick  _hard_ , too. But for now, all he does is swallow down the lump that has caught itself in his throat.  
  
''Do tell.''  
  
He stays silent for a while. Then, he pokes at the fire with his bare hand, empty eyes glossing over the angry red blisters for less than a second, and continues on as if he didn't just get a second-degree burn. Janne can't help but stare at the man's palm, scarred and bleeding. He wipes the blood on his pants without a second thought, and continues.  
  
''I have a suspicion that I might have frightened you with my earlier words,'' he says, voice surprisingly calm for someone who just stuck their hand into a raging fire. ''But I can assure you, nothing bad will happen once we reach Central Command. We will not treat you inhumane, resort to violence, or otherwise restrict you of your freedom, within reason.''  
  
Anything Janne wants to say to that in response crumbles apart within moments -- everything from being held against his will, being choked, and chained to bedposts, and all of it within the span of a single week. But he can't get it out. All he can do is gape and blink his eyes, before finding it in himself to mumble four very intelligent words.  
  
''Dude, what the  _fuck?_ ''  
  
Alternis blinks at him owlishly, drawling his words. ''Was... my suspicion incorrect?''  
  
''Are you  _insane?!_ '' His outburst is enough to rattle the window panes. Or, it was the wind. But it doesn't matter. He doesn't care. All his mind can turn to is the pain, the humiliation of the past week, and now the moron that caught him decided to roast his hand for no damn reason -- it's too much. All those bottled-up emotions come flooding out at once like a tidal wave.  
  
If he's lucky, Alternis just might drown.  
  
But before any of that can happen, he opens his mouth to speak.  
  
''I like to believe I'm not, though I've been called worse.''  
  
''Is 'daft' a worse insult than 'insane' in your books?'' Janne spits. At the venom in his tone, finally, Alternis takes a good, long look at his hand -- and promptly pulls out a roll of clean bandage from his bag, wrapping the cloth carefully around his palm and digits without a change in expression. It's borderline eerie.  
  
Now that that mess has been dealt with, Janne is finally able to put his thoughts in line, and he sighs. ''Look, I don't care anymore. I'm not going anywhere, and you get paid to drag me around, so we better get fucking used to each other.'' While he speaks, Alternis' expression changes from complete disinterest to something vaguely disinterested -- but he might be imagining things. ''Just don't try to be my pal now after contributing to one of the  _shittiest_  weeks of my life.''  
  
Alternis nods, rummaging through his bag and pulling out the leftovers of a meal Kikyo had prepared for them, back when they visited their messy, crowded, dump of a house. He can still envision her flitting about the kitchen while Holly worked her magic. Weird,  _weird_  Eternians. ''Alright, I can do that,'' he says.  
  
''And I want my sword back.''  
  
''Don't push your luck.''  
  
''It doesn't belong to you.''  
  
''Protocol demands captives remain unarmed until escorted to a safe location, where they can be monitored without fear of harm befalling to our men,'' Alternis says, sounding as if he is reciting straight from a big, stuffy old book on the Duchy's code of conduct.  
  
''Does protocol demand you burn your own flesh just for the hell of it?''  
  
He doesn't gain an answer -- not that he was expecting one to begin with. All he hears is the crackling of fire: roaring and hungry, always hungry, consuming anything it comes into contact with, without remorse or sorrow for the things it destroys. Alternis places a pot of leftover rice above it.  
  
With nothing left to do (and no interest to fan the flames between him and Mr. Masochist), Janne swings his feet atop the bed's dusty duvet and squeezes his eyes shut, rolls over so his back is toward the light -- anything to make himself forget of the other presence in the room, if only for a moment.  
  
The soft embrace of sleep pulls on the strings of his mind, fraying the fabric of his consciousness. His coat is a poor excuse for a blanket, but for the first time in weeks, he feels warm. Warm enough to catch a wink of rest, even.  
  
His lids become heavy. Breathing slows... darkness grows...  
  
A knock resounds in his mind.  
  
Abruptly, he's pulled from the slippery slope called slumber. Fighting off grogginess, he pushes an arm below him and fixates his bleary gaze on the door. His heart jumps up into his throat when a black shadow appears in the corner of his eye. Quickly, he reminds himself of where he is, and with whom.  
  
The smell of warm rice fills his nostrils. Yet, the pot is unattended. Alternis stands by the window, warily peeking through the cabin's single window into the cold, barren landscape.  
  
After a moment of agonizing silence, Alternis turns and locks eyes with him, his eyebrows furrowed in exasperation.  
  
''That's not funny.''  
  
''What is?'' Janne asks, voice heavy with exhaustion.  
  
_Knock-knock-knock._  
  
In perfect synchronization, they both turn towards the sound.  _That_  was unmistakably a knock on the door. In the middle of the night. During a snowstorm. Just for a moment, Janne weighs the pros and cons of this situation. At least, if he dies tonight, his misery will finally be over. But on the other hand, he's felt what almost dying feels like and, well, he's not all too eager to go through it once again.  
  
_... Cre-ak. Creeeaaak._  
  
Alternis' steps are feathery-light as he inches towards the door. Before Janne realizes it, the man's hand is resting atop the door handle -- and all he can hear is the storm howling around the cabin walls.  
  
''Don't you dare,'' he hisses, ''don't you  _fucking_  dare.''  
  
... His eyes turn to him, slowly -- that piercing red color is all that's left of him in the dark. But then, it shifts. He blinks, gaze flitting across the room as if... searching. He keeps silent, distant, but in a way that's so completely different from the silent, distant man he's had the  _pleasure_  of getting to know over the past week, that all words escape him.  
  
Something's not right.  
  
And then, he opens the door.  
  
A gust barrels into the cabin, nearly extinguishing their measly fire and casting snow on every imaginable surface. A cloth of finely-woven red silk enters his field of vision, waving wildly in the storm -- and a figure shrouded by the emptiness of night follows, stepping across the threshold.  
  
The light shifts after an agonizingly long second or two, and then he sees her.  
  
In the opening stands a woman -- or, a girl, is more like it. Going by her short stature and youthful face, she can't be much older than fourteen. Between trembling hands, she clutches a parasol close to her chest. Her locks of marigold are speckled with snowflakes, and poke through the top of a delicately-woven straw hat by way of a single bun. The sheer fabric he saw before, which flows from the hat's middle, veils her face in a red tint. A kimono painted with koi fish and a pair of wooden sandals complete the ensemble.  
  
She seems so... out of place. He can feel the hairs on his neck stand on end just at the sight of her.  
  
''Terribly sorry for intruding,'' she says, brushing some snow from her hair, ''but We are ever so cold.''  
  
Her way of talking sounds posh and refined,  _even worse_  than Alternis, yet an underlying tone of kindness softens its edges. But he doesn't trust it. Not one bit.  
  
The door is yet to be closed: flurry after flurry sweeps into the room.  
  
''Did... did We interrupt something?''  
  
At that, clarity returns to Alternis' eyes. He blinks back to the here and now (strange, strange,  _strange_  -- what happened? Why did he let her in?) and follows her gaze that lingers on the shackle binding him to the bedpost, as well as his rather disheveled appearance.  
  
As slow as time seemed to move in this stuffy overcrowded cabin, Alternis turns to her with a definitive, ''No.'' A pause. His voice carries a hint of embarrassment. ''Absolutely not.''  
  
She smiles, and when she does, the corners of her eyes crinkle in mischievous glee.  
  
''Then, you wouldn't mind if We stayed the night, would you?''  
  
Janne's answer of  _''Yes, I do mind,''_  falls on deaf ears as Alternis rushes to shut the door. It slams against its hinges, and as soon as it does, the storm ceases. He can still see snow falling outside, oh  _definitely_ , but no longer do the walls tremble with every gust. No longer can he hear the wind howling in the chimney. This room is now their world -- and it's been pulled into a vacuum.  
  
Lifting the hat from her crown, the girl clutches it by the rim between her hands, smile never fading -- and eyes only focused on the dark knight, as if he doesn't even exist. He has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.  
  
The girl continues after a pause, saying: ''I can't imagine so, since We didn't interrupt anything too important to begin with.'' She glances over his armor, lashes batting so wildly you'd think there was dust in her eyes, and inhales a short breath. ''Say, We have the divine ability to peer into the hearts of mankind and unveil their deepest fears and greatest wishes. We could dig around in your soul for ages to come, with all your deep-rooted childhood traumas and anxieties left over from your teenage years.''  
  
Alternis' eyes nearly bulge out of his skull. Not gonna lie, he kinda wishes he had popcorn right now to go with the show.   
  
''Would you care to try?'' she asks, voice sugary-sweet.  
  
Alternis' mouth opens and closes without releasing any sound, much like a fish, before mumbling: ''We?'' His cheeks are cherry-red, practically aflame. ''Who's we?''  
  
She brushes the question off with a wave of her hat.  
  
''It is only We.''  
  
Though the feeling of apprehension towards the girl lingers in his chest, it is a funny sight to see the usually cold, composed knight so horribly out of his element. He looked so  _genuinely_  flabbergasted: wandering gaze, inability to form simple sentences... if only he could be this dumb all the time. Escaping would've been a breeze, then.  
  
Warily, Alternis reclaims his seat on the floor by the fire. ''Can... we know your name, at least?''  
  
She kicks off her slippers and launches herself up onto the bed beside Janne, landing on her knees.  
  
''We are Yoko,'' she announces with a flair of pride, ''diviner hailing from Yunohana. Reader of hands, teller of fortunes... and in the market for real estate.''  
  
''So, a charlatan,'' Janne says. ''I hear Castle Frostcoffin is nice this time of year. Would be right up your alley.''  
  
She stares at him with vague interest and a relaxed smile. Her kimono flows over the mattress' edge like waterfalls at sunset. For a moment, she appears divine, enlightened -- then she rolls across the duvet, like a child, to lay on her stomach.  
  
''Sounds lovely. Quite cozy, indeed.''  
  
Then, she extends a hand.  
  
''A reading, for your troubles. Free of charge.''  
  
''Hell no.''  
  
Faster,  _almost faster_  than his eyes can keep up, she seems to launch up from her previous position and takes a seat mere inches from him. He tries to scoot further towards the headboard, create distance between them, but her fingers encircle his arm before he can pull it away. One forceful tug, and his hand is locked in a vice grip, its lines being traced in a diligent manner.   
  
''We weren't asking.''  
  
It's quiet in the cabin -- minus the crackling fire, the sound of a metal spoon hitting the sides of a pot, and Yoko's incessant humming. He'd almost doze off, were it not for her fingers digging into his wrist.  
  
After a silence much too long, she mumbles, ''What an interesting life you've led. Sneaking alcohol onto school grounds at the age of fifteen?'' She tuts. ''How naughty of you, Janne Balestra.''  
  
Both his and Alternis' eyes widen -- and both for completely different reasons.  
  
''It shouldn't be,'' Alternis says, sooner than Janne can get his own thoughts in order ( _okay, maybe she's not as much of a charlatan as I previously thought -- still weird, though_ ). The gaze he casts Janne's way could pierce through glass. ''We've searched the records top to bottom. There is not a  _single_  Balestra associated with you.''  
  
''Then maybe you should've searched harder.''  
  
Alternis' face contorts into something harsh and ugly, but before he can speak whatever unnecessary thoughts are on his mind, Yoko pipes up.  
  
''Records?'' she asks. Her grip has slackened a bit, and Janne rips his hand out of her grasp before she notices. ''What records do you speak of?''  
  
Once her cheerful, impish-like voice has cut through the tension, Alternis' expression reverts to something much more calm and collected. ''Such information is irrelevant to the public,'' he says, and  _Gods, does he sound like a prick then_. ''Either way, Yoko, you'd do well to keep your distance. That there's a convict -- and I am in the process of escorting him to Central Command for proper interrogation.''  
  
''A criminal...'' she says under her breath, lost in thought. Then, her eyes seem to sparkle in delight. ''How exhilarating!''  
  
''Yeah, I know, crime is fun. Wanna take my place?'' Janne says, taking a bowl of heated rice from Alternis without giving the man a single glance of acknowledgment. Yoko gets a bowl placed in her lap, as well, and Janne turns back to her, a handful of questions lying in wait on his tongue. At least she was marginally more fun to be around than the walking, talking rust-bucket.   
  
''What are you even  _doing_  here?'' he asks her, spoonful of rice in his mouth. ''Where are your parents?''  
  
She takes a big spoonful herself, and answers around the grains swirling around in her mouth. Is she... imitating him? ''We have no parents,'' she says, as if it is the most normal thing in the world. ''It is the reason for why We are looking for a home.''  
  
Silence, once again.  
  
And, like the light of his blade cuts through the dark, Alternis cuts through the quiet -- with words no one would like to hear, but that have to be said.  
  
''You won't find one out here.''  
  
His tone is blunt, eyes in his lap as his gaze glides over the tips of his bandaged fingers. Here, by the fire, with his face and all its scars hidden by his hair and the dancing shadows, he seems almost human.  
  
''If you follow the mountain path, you'll arrive back at the capital,'' he continues. ''Someone will help you there.''  
  
''Not you?''  
  
''I've given you a hot meal,'' he says, own hands empty, ''that's more than you may ask for.''  
  
_... Why does he bother to help her at all?_  
  
It's all Janne can think about, when his sight blurs and the fire becomes an ocean of light, and Yoko blends in with it seamlessly. Yet, Alternis is a steady rock in the dark. What good comes out of it for himself? All he's gained is a night of hunger, and for what? The momentary joy of feeling like you've helped another human being? Or could it be linked to those teenage-years problems Yoko spoke of in passing?  
  
Alternis is an enigma. But Janne doesn't have the time nor the luxury to figure him out. He doesn't even know if he wants to.  
  
''That you have,'' she mumbles. ''And a delicious one, at that.''  
  
Yoko reaches forward.  
  
''A reading, for your troubles?'' There's dust in her eyes, once more. ''Please, won't you humor a poor  _charlatan_?''  
  
Unlike himself, Alternis allows her to practically fondle his hand, running her thumbs along the multitude of lines -- and the multitude of scars. Softer, nearly invisible lines from long ago that have had time to fade, and red, angry marks of recent battles fought.  
  
A song rumbles in her throat. Time seems to slip until her head rises like the morning sun, having hummed an orchestra's worth of music. There is an impish smile tugging on her lips and her eyes, pupils nearly appearing as slits (was that a trick of the light?), crinkle by the corners once again.  
  
A teasing lilt has wrapped itself around her tone: words slow, full of wonder.  
  
''In love, are we?''  
  
...  
  
It starts with a snicker.  
  
Alternis' head whips around to him with a glare that could make flowers wilt, cheeks red and oh, that is  _definitely_  not a trick of the light. He can't help himself. Pretty soon, the chuckle has evolved into full-blown laughter.  
  
''Bwahahaha! He,  _in love_ ,'' he searches Yoko's eyes for any sign of a joke, and comes up empty, ''him? HIM? Now I know  _for sure_ that you're a fraud!''  
  
What she said earlier (about him, about his name and his not-so-quite-allowed activities) must've been a lucky guess, surely. There is  _no way_  a stoic, emotionless man like Alternis Dim, who kisses the boots of his superior and would gladly ( _foolishly_ ) throw his life away if it meant a bright future for Eternia, would know the first thing about love. It's just not possible.  
  
He knew love, though. He knew it better than anything. Better than he knew himself.  
  
His laughter stifles when he catches burgundy flames blossoming in Alternis' palm (the one not being clutched by Yoko), and a murderous glare twisting his  _stoic, emotionless_  face.  
  
''Love is a powerful force, you know,'' she tuts, shaking her head from side to side, ''you'd do well not to mock it.''  
  
''Oh, believe you me, I know.''  
  
''You do, indeed, know. Then, why are you laughing at him?''  
  
''Because --  _look at him_ ,'' (Alternis' command of  _'don't look at me'_  falls on deaf ears,) ''do you really think  _this_  is the kind of guy who writes sappy love poems and takes you to fancy restaurants? I'd like to bet he's never even been kissed before!''  
  
''You'd be correct,'' says Yoko.  
  
At that, Alternis rips his hand away and holds it close to his chest, cheeks aflame. ''Is this necessary?!'' With a huff, he turns away from the bed and begins to poke the flaming embers with a metal spoon; likely the one he used to prepare dinner. ''Forget it. This is all pointless.''  
  
''All of it? Truly? Wouldn't you like to know what is becoming of your dearest Edea?''  
  
... Silence, once again. Janne thought he'd be used to it by now from the man.  
  
''... Edea is a strong woman,'' he begins, yet his voice wavers as if he doesn't even believe his own words, ''and she isn't alone. I have faith that she can take care of herself.''  
  
Yoko stands from the bed, and carefully, takes a seat on the floor besides the knight. ''There is no shame in admitting the truth to Us.''  
  
''I am telling the truth.''  
  
She casts a glance behind her, toward Janne. In a blink, he understands: Alternis might tell the truth if he weren't here. But he'd be damned if he went out in this weather again and so, he stays put. When no more words come out of the man, she casts a shrug.  
  
''If you believe it to be so.''  
  
The quiet floods back into the room, and outside, he can hear the storm once more, weaving through the pines and headstones in this forgotten valley. With nothing left to do or discuss, Janne lays down, turning away from the light.  
  
He can feel the hands of sleep, beckoning him... and another pair, he feels around his hand, cradling his palm.  
  
His eyes snap open, and who else sits there but Yoko, tracing the lines with her thumbs and a cheeky smile on her lips.  
  
''Nineteen years old,'' she says, as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.  
  
''And eleven months,'' he adds.  
  
She lays down next to him, nonchalant, with a hand under her head and legs crossed over one another. From this close, her fruity perfume is strong, too strong --  he can practically feel the hairs in his nose shrivel up.  
  
''Aren't you a little young to be taking over the world?''  
  
There it is again: the anger he'd managed to tamp down considerably in the few short hours after stepping off the airship. Now, it rears its ugly head again, like a beast that bides its time, waiting until it can burst out of his chest. What possesses him,  _constantly_ , to always make things worse for himself? If he doesn't find a way to make the ones around him upset, he'll always know just how to step on his own toes.  
  
He knew love. He knew love for himself.  
  
But not anymore.  
  
He snatches his hand from her, and says, ''I'm old enough to no longer need a curfew, unlike you.'' He tosses and turns, finds himself continuously facing either  _her_  or  _him_ , and goes to lay on his stomach as a last resort. ''Now go to bed,'' he huffs, voice heavy with sleep, ''leave me alone.''  
  
... Surprisingly, she does.  
  
Gradually, the crackling fire and the storm's roar fades out, becoming a sea of white noise in the back of his mind. His thoughts drift upon them like little boats, their sails catching the wind before everything turns black.  
  
For just a night, he can let them go.

 

 

*

  
That night, he dreams in black and white.  
  
From the edge of his thoughts, leaning across the side of the sailboat, he peers into the murky depths of the ocean below. He shifts his weight, nears the ghoulish waves, closer, closer,  _come closer_ \--  
  
It swallows him whole.  
  
It's even darker down here. No stars up above, no signs of life down below. He kicks his legs, trying with all his might to swim upward -- but the higher he climbs, the sea level rises tenfold.  
  
His air escapes.  
  
It pushes itself out. Immediately, he screams soundlessly, clutches his throat and tries to suck the air back in, but it's a futile effort.  
  
The darkness he drifts in coils around his toes. It travels up his legs, his waist, his chest, squeezing the sad remains of his body. A lifeless husk. For what is a man without love?  
  
It goes further up, solidifies until tar-like, and floods into his open mouth. He can feel it gather in his lungs, expanding, until his chest is moments away from bursting open.  
  
... If he's lucky, he just might drown.  
  
''Good morning.''  
  
With a start, he comes back up for air.  
  
First, he can make out the vague shape of a human. Then, when his vision clears, he can see it is Yoko, looming over his sleeping form. She wears a smile just as bright as the night before, and doesn't appear as someone's who's slept even a little bit. The make-up dusted on her eyelids still looks as crisp as ever.  
  
''Pleasant dream?'' she asks, with a single brow raised and a lop-sided smirk.  
  
He rolls out of bed without acknowledging her.  
  
It doesn't take much time to prepare for the trek back to the airship. Once they're outside, the storm is long gone, but the cold is still as biting as yesterday. Alternis insisted Yoko tags along for a mile or two (saying something or other about it being much too dangerous in Eternia at the moment to go house-hunting), and now she walks beside him while he trudges along, legs aching and a terrible crick in his neck. Unlike him, she bounces through the snowbanks, practically skipping in delight.  
  
Slowly, Gravemark Village fades away into the distance behind him. The mountains glow yellow in the early morning sun, and Janne takes a moment to appreciate the quiet. No one speaks a word, but it doesn't feel suffocating. He can still envision his dream as clear as day, even though it was as dark as the night.  
  
Leftover tar in his lungs slips through the cracks, and when the rising sun peeks over the mountaintops, he feels a vague sense of peace -- barely there, but he feels it.  
  
Nature could have that effect on people. Too bad he didn't go out much anymore.  
  
Yoko hums yet another tune -- wistful, yet airy and light.  
  
''We do so want to thank you both for your hospitality,'' she says during a lull in her tune. ''Before We opened the door, We could already sense your energy. For a moment there, We had you--'' she turns to Alternis, ''--confused with someone else, though We realized you weren't the same quickly after.''  
  
''Who did you have me confused with?'' Alternis asks, voice slightly muffled from behind his helmet.  
  
She laughs a girlish giggle in response. ''Even if We told you, it wouldn't matter much to you. All We will say is that your energies are different, yet similar in a strange manner. It's kind of funny.''  
  
''Funny,'' Alternis repeats, then remains silent, as if the word is foreign to him.  
  
''Oh, and We do so enjoyed getting to talk with you.'' Her expression turns inquisitive. ''Are you certain there aren't any vacant houses in the area? We've always loved a Winter-white view from where We sleep.''  
  
''Positive. Like I've said, it's much too dangerous at the moment. If you stick to the main road leading to the capital, trouble shouldn't find you.''  
  
''You won't be escorting me?''  
  
''Apologies. My duties as knight of Eternia take precedence.''  
  
Soon after, the black hull of Alternis' ship comes into view. Surrounded by all this white, Janne is once again reminded of the things his brain concocted up in his sleep -- but he doesn't dwell on it long. He has worse things to worry about.  
  
From here, he can see a single spire of Central Command, piercing the cloud layer.  
  
Alternis goes through the motions upon boarding. He shackles Janne to a pole first and foremost ( _of course_ ), then unlocks the control panel. A countless array of buttons are pressed, and then the lights flicker on, the engine's sudden roar no longer a sound that startles him.  
  
A tremor shakes the ship -- and above it, he can just barely make out a voice.  
  
''Sir Alternis!''  
  
... It's Yoko.  
  
She runs parallel to the hull, kicking up flurries of snow with every step. It clings stubbornly to her clothes and hair, yet she doesn't seem to notice. Her smile is radiant, full of child-like glee.  
  
A part of him wishes he could experience that again.  
  
''Sir Alternis!'' she calls again, waving her arms wildly as if it would help her voice rise above the engine's heavy rumble. Alternis' head rises from the control panel, and he wanders over to the balustrade. Yoko's smile widens once she spots him. ''We do so appreciated being able to see your wonderful face! May We see it one last time, before you take off?''  
  
Last night proved Alternis indeed does have... a face. But Janne wouldn't call it wonderful -- not in the slightest. Greasy hair clung to his forehead, his irises were an  _unnatural_  color, his lids were dusted black from exhaustion. Chapped lips, enough scars and wounds and bruises for a lifetime marred his skin--  
  
There is nothing wonderful about strife.  _Nothing._  
  
... But Alternis takes off the helmet anyway.  
  
And he has never before seen this expression on him. His usually dull eyes are now sharp and vibrant, tracing the curves and spikes of the metal helm in his hands. Then, those eyes turn towards the spire of Central Command.  
  
The wind tears through the mountains one last time. It starts forlorn, weeping as it sweeps the snow, an endless call for help.  
  
And then, abruptly, it stops.  
  
''Get on,'' he calls to her.  
  
Janne rises to his feet, but he can't do anything from here -- only watch on as a smile, a  _genuine_  ghost of a smile, appears on his lips, as if brushed on by the gale itself.  
  
If he could inhale half the sky before... now, he could hardly breathe.  
  
''We couldn't,'' objects Yoko, voice barely rising above the cacophony of sound, ''you said so yourself! Your duties take precedence!''  
  
''I didn't ask, did I?'' As if finally realizing it himself, his smile falls in an instant, though his eyes remain patient. ''Now, get on. There's some empty houses near Florem's coastline I'm sure you will love.''  
  
Yoko practically barrels up onto the deck, bounding like an excited puppy. ''Oh, how fun! How exhilarating! We are so excited to be spending more time together with you both!'' She skips around half the deck, before deciding right next to him is where she wanted to sit. Lovely. Wasn't he lucky?  
  
''Uh,'' Janne starts, ''not that I want you to deliver me to the authorities that bad, but what the hell are you doing?'' First, he gestures vaguely at Yoko, who smiles, and then at... well, everything. ''What  _is_  this?''  
  
In his mind, it doesn't make sense. The man who's married to the job doesn't just... throw it all away. Why would he do this? What reason could he possibly have to justify his actions right now?  
  
''A detour,'' comes Alternis' answer. ''Like this, I can ensure the safety of my friends, and be certain nothing will befall Yoko.'' His expression shifts again, all hard lines and edges, and he slides the helmet back over his scalp. ''Don't celebrate too soon, though. I can find some other use for you.''  
  
''So, for the time being, I'm your occupational nuisance?''  
  
''Your words,'' he says, turning back to the helm, ''not mine.''  
  
The engine becomes louder, thundering through the entire ship as they make their ascent. The sea of clouds is endless before them, almost daunting to see. But now, his future looks different, thanks to this turn of events. Not better, not worse, but... different. At best, he only managed to delay the inevitable.  
  
But he'd take it. It's better than nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from this point on, i've got no more drafts left, so updates will be not-so-frequent. though, i'm gonna shoot for at least one chapter a month!! my life might get busy soon, but i'll always make time to write.
> 
> if you're curious about my progress or just want to talk, my inbox is always open!! you can find me on tumblr @ayngondaia (main blog) & @vendacti (art blog)
> 
> and as usual, feedback is super duper appreciated!! The adventure will continue on for our heroes....... but for now, toodles!


	4. Adult Eyes

''Would you happen to have any fours?''  
  
His eyes are turned to the skies ahead, blue and gold hues with sleepy clouds drifting along its expanse. The white shores of the Florem coastline come into view at the horizon, inching toward them -- finally,  _finally_  here.  
  
Alternis isn't sure how much longer he would've survived stuck in the endless skies with only his thoughts to keep him company.  Well,  _that_ , as well as an orphan girl and a fugitive. But their voices could never rise above the storm in his mind. No matter how loud they talked, bickered or bantered, he found himself to be stuck by the helm: immovable, staring at the skies before him with vacant eyes.  
  
This isn't the first time his thoughts have swallowed him whole -- far from it. It's the reason why he drowns himself in work, missions and responsibilities: if he weren't sharpening the swords of new recruits, he'd be penning letters for the Lord Marshal. If he keeps his hands busy, his mind occupied... it won't have a chance to flare up the fires of doubts and worry deep within him.  
  
Work keeps him distracted. If he cannot spare a moment to think about the insatiable urge to impress the Lord Marshal, the constant worry for Miss Lee's heart, and that stupid, stubborn sparkle of hope that Edea may one day have love for him in return, then none of it will exist. He won't spend hours of the night tossing and turning in his sleep. None of it will torture him.  
  
''Nope,'' he hears behind him.  
  
But soon they will land, and the vast endlessness will fade in favor of hills and bustling towns. He's not big on crowds, but the noise might be loud enough -- finally,  _finally_.  
  
''Liar,'' coos Yoko.  
  
''Cheater,'' scoffs Janne.  
  
The winds are softer in this part of the world, compared to the raging storms that ravage Eternia. Without it howling in his ears, he can hear Yoko's laughter in response to Janne clear as day.  
  
''We believe Us to be in the right to use Our gift of seeing beyond limits, if it enables Us to nip your lies in the bud.''  
  
He has yet to figure out how she managed to convince him to unbind Janne from his shackles. His memories of it are... hazy. One minute, her eyes glisten at him, puppy-like yet mischievous akin to a fox -- and then his recollections turn gray and blurred, as if he was going about on autopilot, before turning back into focus...  _just_  in time to feel the weight of manacles in his hands, and witness Yoko dragging Janne off into the ship's hull on a search for something to keep themselves occupied with during the flight.  
  
It should've worried him more than it did. But he had a similar hole in his memory (in the cabin, right before the door -- one minute there were two and the next there were  _three_ ) that screamed for his attention, louder than the high probability of Yoko and Janne ransacking his ship did.  
  
After all: if something happens once, it's chance. If something happens twice, it's deliberate.  
  
... Could it be something was messing with him?  
  
His mind turns to Yoko first. Both instances involved her. Logically, it only makes sense... but if she truly is more than she says she is, he can't very well turn her away now. He invited her to come along -- and that memory is  _anything_  but gray and blurry.  
  
What would the Lord Marshal say, if he knew where he was? But, even if the man was right in front of him now, there'd be no words to explain with how much radiance the mountains shone, that moment he clenched his teeth and decided to throw caution to the wind. It was all for his daughter's sake. It is all for Edea.  
  
It is all for her.  
  
_... Gods, I'm a fool._  
  
''Sir Alternis, would you care to settle this for us?''  
  
Her voice doesn't reach him at first -- then, his brain stumbles to catch up with everything that's been happening around him while he was lost in his own soul, and her words finally register for him. Her tone is cheery and light as she continues, oblivious, ''Whose actions are worse: Janne's or Ours?''  
  
He turns around from the helm (surprised he still knows how to do so), practically hearing the grind of cogs turning in his head, and finds the two of them sitting on the deck, each a fan of cards in hand. Janne's lips are pulled in a tight line, brows drawn in irritation -- though, after nearly two weeks in the man's presence, he's started to believe that's genuinely the way he looks. Yoko waves at him with her own hand lazily -- an entire row of kings and queens.  
  
''I don't care,'' he says after a moment, flipping a number of switches on the control panel to prepare for their descent, ''just don't kill each other back there.''  
  
This had been going on for a number of days. He'd tuned out their sibling-like bickering a while ago.  
  
(Though, what does he know? He's never really had a sibling. There was no one for him to squabble with, to help dye their hair for during their rebellious teenage years, or help them cram for a mathematics exam with some last-minute tutoring.  
  
He'd had none of that. Only a girl to admire, and a woman to dream about.)  
  
The soft breeze flutters past his vessel's banners. A gentle, familiar murmur sounds beneath his feet. Yoko's laugh is barely restrained, near-gloating, as she smacks down her handful of royalty upon the deck.  
  
''We win.''  
  
''Oh, fuck off!'' Janne's answer comes instantly. ''There is  _no damn way_  you can win  _ten times_  in a row without cheating!''  
  
''You'd be correct. But We have certainly proven you are completely willing to lose nearly a dozen times, just to see  _how exactly_ you are being deceived, haven't We?''  
  
''It's called  _strategy_.''  
  
''It's called losing.''  
  
_Bicker, bicker, bicker._  He finds it easy to tune out. The skies are what hold his attention -- and soon, other Eternian aircraft will no longer be a sight he has to be on edge for. The Duchy's forces are concentrated on the capital city, with only few soldiers having been dispatched to neighboring continents. It'd be practically impossible to run into anyone he knows here.  
  
But it'd still be wise to keep his guard up. He was already planning on forgoing his airship to stay off the Empire's radar. But even so, while donning his armor, even the most sheltered believers would know his name. Perhaps--  
  
_Tap-taptap-taptap._  
  
''Sir Alternis,'' Yoko begins after skipping up to him, hands behind her back, ''would you happen to have any spare garments on board?''  
  
The question is innocent enough, but he cannot help but raise a brow. ''Why?'' he asks, steering his ship down to the water where warm air greets them, as well as a congregation of market stalls lining the docks, overflowing with freshly-caught seafood and bustling with people.  
  
''Because... we can hardly walk into town with Sir Janne looking like...  _that_ , can we?''  
  
''Like what?'' Janne scoffs behind him. ''Like I got pulled through a paper shredder?''  
  
He steers his vessel beside one of the dock's few empty spots, but before either mooring or disembarking, he turns to face the two. Yoko's expression is radiantly positive (as ever), and Janne's expression is sour (also as ever) as he slides the deck of cards back into its packaging.  
  
A change of clothes would be a good idea. Not only would Janne no longer be wearing his eye-catching coat (for all the wrong reasons: ratty, dirty, and the Empire's insignia embroidered onto its front), he himself would also garner less attention if he traded in his trademark armor for something less...  _present_.  
  
Without his armor, he wouldn't be the Dark Knight of Eternia. Just another face in a crowd of millions.  
  
''I might have some spare shirts in my wardrobe. Follow me.''  
  
She falls in line behind him akin to a duckling, and pulls Janne up by the arm to follow along as they pass him by.  
  
The inside of his ship has never been anything to write home about: a few cabins, small kitchen, basic armory, rooms for supplies and provisions -- but it's a home away from home nonetheless. He knows the path of every wood grain in his bed frame, every nick in the wall from training sessions taken too far... every faucet and door and staircase that drips and creaks in the deadly silent, sleepless nights he suffers.  
  
...  
  
... Anyway, it had been a gift from the Lord Marshal nearly a decade ago, for his sixteenth birthday. Oh, how envious Edea had been: she'd been begging her father for months to let her come along on a flight, and now he was given private lessons  _and_  his own ship as the cherry on top.  
  
Perhaps it was to make up for the birthdays they had missed, and the birthdays he'd never had. But despite the little voice in the back of his head telling him he didn't deserve this, that he was more trouble than he was worth, his heart felt full that day.  
  
... It all seems so long ago, now.  
  
He leads them into his room: a cabin that looks virtually the same as the other few cabins -- the only difference being that this one holds most of his belongings. Whereas Janne keeps to himself by the door frame, Yoko bounds towards the armoire and throws it open with fervor, sending dust everywhere and revealing a few piles of clothing.  
  
While she hacks up a lung, he picks out garments from the piles and throws them across his arm.  
  
''Don't break anything,'' he says -- and with that, leaves the room to go change somewhere else.  
  
While he trusts Yoko enough to stay when she's told to, he doesn't quite hold Janne to the same level. He's defenseless, true, but his common sense is less than great. He has tried to run off once before, even though he must've known his attempt was doomed to fail -- or perhaps he was blinded by the chance it might work.  
  
Stubborn. Reckless. Alternis can't say he appreciates those qualities in a person.  
  
Lost in thought once more, his feet take him to the armory. It's a sad excuse for one (utility closet-sized, and only a dozen weapons or so), but in there is the only armor stand on the entire ship. Piece by piece, he disassembles his armor and places each part on the stand with care -- gently, as if handling ceramic. His gauntlets are the first to go, followed by his vambraces, sabatons, greaves, pauldrons, cuirass... and finally, his helmet.  
  
It would never not feel strange, it seems, to walk upon the earth without his walls encasing him. But if he wishes to blend in, he must.  
  
It'll be fine. He's gone on intelligence missions before. He can do this.  
  
... Of course, he didn't have to haul around some added weight back then, unlike now, but it'll still be fine. Right?  
  
_Right._  
  
Heavy as lead, he drags his hand across the black metal, feeling every scratch and nick upon its surface with the tips of his fingers. Why does this feel so... difficult? The armor isn't  _him_ , it has  _never been_  him -- but nonetheless, it still feels as if he's leaving behind a part of himself. Not an arm, nor a leg, but... something else. Something he can't quite name. But he knows this feeling won't leave. It'll keep throbbing, like a wound on his finger that won't stop dripping blood. And it will only heal once he's back inside his armor. Back inside his safe little bubble.  
  
... With more force than is perhaps necessary, he stuffs his slacks inside his boots and zips them up.  
  
It's not that difficult. He's making it worse than it is.  _It's not that difficult._  
  
After throwing on a dark pilot's jacket and pulling his gloves back on (being mindful of the bandages covering one of his hands), he ties a maroon bandanna around his neck for a splash of color -- that, and there is the slightest chance it could help elevate his worries out in public, knowing he could pull a cloth over his face if he so desired.  
  
... He'll admit that to no one, though.  
  
Once that's all done, he re-ties both scabbards he previously wore around his waist: one holding his blade, the other holding Janne's. Now that he has a moment to himself, a single moment to breathe, curiosity gets the better of him -- and his hand wanders down to his hip.  
  
He wraps his fingers around the rapier's hilt, and pulls.  
  
Shards of light scatter across the room when the metal cuts through a strip of light. The blade glints underneath the dust-speckled, early afternoon sun, and oh, it is  _fine_  craftsmanship. Not a scratch nor blemish appears while he shifts it in his hands, inspecting it from every angle, appreciating it from every edge. It's quite heavy (almost as heavy as his own blade), and beneath the hilt, his fingertip brushes over an impurity. A marking of some kind, etched into the metal. He holds it closer to see.  
  
To his surprise, it is a crest. The carving is delicate, but he can just about make out what it depicts: a two-headed hound encircled by the ocean's waves. Their two sets of eyes stare into opposite directions, yet both don't seem bothered that the water is close, so close it could wet the edges of their fur, pull them under, deeper and deeper and  _deeper--_  
  
''Sir Alternis?''  
  
He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden voice through the door. With stumbling hands, he lets the rapier slide back into its sheath. The voice is bright and bold, curious. A girl's voice: Yoko's. Wait, what is she -- oh, right. He told her to come along on the flight. Did he lock the door? Does this door even  _have_  a lo--  
  
''Sir Alternis?'' she asks again, knuckles tapping against the wood. ''Are you alright in there? We have been awaiting you on the deck for a short while now.''  
  
''Have you?'' he asks in reply, then mentally slaps himself. Of course they have. He always loses track of time when left to his own devices. ''I'll be up in a minute.''  
  
Silence.  
  
''... May We see?''  
  
A lump forms in his throat. He runs his tongue along chapped lips. ''May you see... what?''  
  
''You, of course.''  
  
... He'd have to get over this anxiousness stirring in his stomach someday. He is leaving behind his walls, yet their weight would drag behind him every step of the way... and he is going against orders. Blatantly, undeniably spitting in the face of his country by taking with him one who would burn it to the ground.  
  
But it's for Edea. It's all for her. And that makes it okay.  
  
_Right?_  
  
Feeling the drum of his heart in his fingertips, he grasps the handle and cautiously cracks open the door.  
  
The first thing he sees is the color red -- the ribbon tied around her hair. Even while standing on her platform soles, she barely reaches up to his collarbone. Something twinkles in her eyes, and she takes a step back, hands clutched by her cheek and the coy grin settling against it.  
  
''Well, well,  _well_ ,'' she giggles, ''there is a man underneath all that metal after all!''  
  
''O-Of course,'' he replies, befuddled, ''why wouldn't there be?''  
  
She merely smiles, and gives a little twirl of her own. ''So? What do you think?''  
  
At first, he grows even more confused as her ensemble appears... very much exactly the same. The same kimono still hangs from her shoulders. The same flowery accessories are still braided into her hair. The sa--  
  
... There is a sash tied around her waist with an old katana --  _his_  old katana. The very same one Master Kamiizumi had  _made_  for him,  _given_  to him, and it was a wonderful blade. So wonderful he didn't allow himself to use it.  
  
He knew Master Kamiizumi would've liked it, if he'd used it. But he couldn't bring himself to. Much like his airship, it was a gift. It was to be treasured. It was to be held close and admired, because when else would he receive another gift? Another expression of gratitude and ' _you're important, you matter to me'_? He couldn't say. All he could do was ensure everything gifted to him remained as perfect as the day he first laid eyes upon it --  _especially_  his katana.  
  
And Yoko was flaunting it by her hip. In broad daylight.  
  
'' _Any_  day now, Sir Alternis.''  
  
He takes a slow breath, eyes never leaving the katana's hilt.  
  
''Give me that blade.''  
  
At least she has the decency to look mildly apologetic. Her brow creases, and it is such an uncommon sight on her, he feels an inkling of regret before reminding himself that  _no_ , he has the right to be irked.  
  
''But, Sir Al--''  
  
'' _Give it.'_ '  
  
Without another word, Yoko unties the sash and scabbard from around her middle and silently hands it to Alternis.  
  
''I was under the impression you'd only rummage through my clothes --  _not_  my personal belongings.'' It feels heavy in his hands, heavier than it's ever felt. Perhaps that's what happens, when a blade has spent more time mounted on a wall than on a battlefield.  
  
Her voice is minuscule when she speaks up, hands wringing the hem of her left sleeve. ''Are you upset with Us?''  
  
A deep breath rattles through his lungs. ''No.''  
  
''B-Because--'' she flits around him, a shadow cast across her face of sunlight, ''We truly are sorry for crossing Sir Alternis' boundaries. And that, after you've so graciously taken Us under your wing, and aboard your iron bird...''  
  
''I'm not upset,'' he says, internally debating with himself whether to take the katana with him --  _no, no, I'd look stupid with a grand total of three blades strapped to me --_  and ultimately leaves it on a weapon rack before pulling the door closed with a loud bang.  
  
''There is no shame in admitting the truth to Us.''  
  
When he returns his gaze to her, a deep frown is pulling on her brows. Her lips are drawn in a tight line, and they tremble ever so slightly as if on the verge of a sob. In all honesty, she appears as if she can't decide whether to glower or cry.  
  
Another deep breath, and it cuts slivers of wounds in his throat.  
  
''I'm not upset,'' he repeats, ''just don't do it again.''  
  
''We won't.'' A pause. ''That's a promise.''  
  
Seconds later, the glaring sun blinds him momentarily when he rises above deck, Yoko trailing behind him closely. Her arms are wrapped loosely around herself, and a vacant expression swims in her eyes, but--  
  
''Catch.''  
  
A glimmer of metal speeds into his vision, and just before it can collide with his head, his hands shoot up to shield it from the impact. He wraps his fingers around the object: pointy, sharp, oddly-shaped... a key.  
  
The engine keys.  
  
''What's the matter? Leave your brain inside your helmet?'' Janne's commentary cuts through the cacophony of seagulls' shrill cries as they circle above the waters. ''If I had any clue on how to steer this hunk of metal, I can promise you, you'd suddenly and unexpectedly find yourself at the bottom of the bay.''  
  
Yoko pipes up, ''You can also get us there without any steering knowledge.''  
  
Without the sun blinding him, Janne looks... better. Less raggedy. Long hair pulled into a ponytail and brushed from his eyes, the faint scarring lines from the old wound on his forehead become visible. He appears to still be wearing the same shirt, trousers and boots, but now, around his arms clings the fabric of an old shearling coat Lady Mahzer once gifted him -- and despite promising himself to wear it someday, he never did. The blue sleeves are folded twice so they won't cover his hands and the front buttons are undone, allowing the coat to dance in the sea breeze.  
  
It looks... nice on him, even. Perhaps it would've looked nice on himself, too.  
  
''... I guess I can,'' Janne responds flatly. He raises a brow as he regards Yoko. ''Where's your sword?''  
  
''Confiscated,'' she sighs.  
  
''I know the feeling.''  
  
With a heavy heart, Alternis leaves the ship at the docks and pays the necessary fees. He cannot run the risk of anyone finding them, whether they're aligned with the Duchy or the Empire. Of course, once the Lord Marshal inevitably finds out (and  _oh_ , he most  _certainly_  will), he'll be in for a talk he'll never forget. But, perhaps if he were to reveal he went against orders for his daughter's safety (for her, it's all for her), the chances of him looking past his misdeeds  _could_  increase ever so slightly...  
  
Heat coils around him, but he ignores it, as he's done for over half his life already. The docks are bustling with life and lined with merchants cheerily announcing their fresh catch of the day. The market stretches on further into the port town, with flags in every shade of the rainbow strung between the streets.  
  
Yoko bounds ahead, eyes pulled from one side of the road to the other, marveling at decorated ceramics one second, and intricate embroidery the next. For a moment, he fears he has lost her. But, right before panic settles into his gut, he spots her: standing by a small cart, its shutters open to reveal rows upon rows of pastries and baked goods. The donkey strung to the cart's front is being crowded by a handful of children who run their hands along its nose and feed it sticky palm-fulls of grass and dandelions, bright smiles upon every last one of their faces.   
  
Eyes glittering as she is completely fixated on the delicacies, he goes up to Yoko with the intent to place a delicate hand on her shoulder and lead her away. They cannot waste daylight, after all.  
  
But, before he can do any of that, she whips around and snatches him by the wrist, eyes big and pleading.  
  
''Sir Alternis,'' she starts and  _oh, he does not like that innocent tone,_  ''treat Us, for We have no money.''  
  
Thought not eager to admit it, he is still irked from what happened earlier -- but he can't let her know that. So, he keeps his voice steady.  
  
''You had breakfast an hour ago.''  
  
''And We are hungry once again.''  
  
''No.''  
  
'' _Please?_ ''  
  
''Just buy the girl a croissant already,'' Janne intercepts, with crossed arms and eyes that nearly roll back into his skull. ''It's not like you don't have any money.''  
  
While he would like to refute that statement, he can't. So, with the sixteenth deep sigh of the day (yes, he was keeping track), he fishes a leather wallet out of his pocket and pours some coins into Yoko's eager, awaiting palms. She skips towards the baker, and he smiles at her with round, cherry-red cheeks.  
  
''See now, was that so hard?'' scoffs Janne. The hard line of his lips is sharp enough to slice through glass. Compared to that freezing cold, broken husk of a man he'd dragged out of the water close to two weeks ago, the man before him is nothing like it.  
  
The man before Alternis isn't just broken. He's broken, and  _furious_. Barely-contained anger radiates off of him, and his hurtful words cling to himself and others like tar.  
  
Oh, Alternis is a sad man, certainly, with his never-ending venture to  _please and please and please_ , until the day he finally becomes one with his walls. But Janne is sad in a different way.  
  
He still has no pity for him. But then, what can he name this intense feeling he experiences every time his eyes glide over his scowling eyes, hunched shoulders and tense, white knuckles? Words evade him, like they always do.  
  
Before the silence can drag on, Yoko returns with a chocolate croissant wrapped in a flowery, paper napkin. Eagerly, she bites down: flakes of the crunchy outer crust cling to her cheeks, but her smile is radiant at the taste. She tears off the other half and holds it before Alternis (who shakes his head no), and then Janne, who takes the piece and makes it vanish in a single bite.  
  
''Now, about your search, Yoko,'' Alternis starts, ''I know the capital offers funding to young homeless women to get them on their feet, though getting it requires identification.'' He thinks for a moment. ''Most towns also offer board and lodging to teenagers who are without a roof over their heads, though that requires you to submit copies of a work contra--''  
  
''We have no identification,'' Yoko cuts through, licking crumbs from her lips, ''nor a desire to do physical labor.''  
  
''Does anyone?'' laughs Janne. Alternis ignores him for now.  
  
... Had it truly been such a wise decision to bring her here? The notion had felt noble at the time, but now, he wasn't so sure anymore. He can barely take care of himself -- and it was foolish to think he could take care of someone else.  
  
She notices the worry pulling on his brow,  _she must be,_  and extends a hand toward him. Her digits curl around his arm, and for a moment, the child is gone -- and she stares through him with adult eyes.  
  
''But...'' she tries, tentatively, ''perhaps you, or  _we_ , can attempt to find work for Us that isn't so straining. In the capital, maybe?''  
  
''Good luck,'' says Janne, ''the easiest jobs are always gone the fastest.''  
  
''Either way, didn't you tell Us We've already gotten more than We may have asked for?'' She curls a strand of hair around her finger, but his gaze doesn't leave her adult eyes and the bit of chocolate smeared on her bottom lip. ''It seems silly for you to stick your neck out for Us.''  
  
His lungs squeeze out the seventeenth deep sigh of the day.  
  
''... Fine. Train to the capital it is.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ''local man doesn't realize the object of his affection is a massive lesbian'' - the fic
> 
> sorry if this chapter's quality is all over the place, i've been writing it in short blurbs over the past 2 months cuz ive been out of the zone and suuuper busy with my new job;;;;;; wow who wouldve thought working 8 hours a day would drain creativity huh lmao
> 
> as always, feedback is super duper appreciated and fuels me to hell and back.


	5. Until the Words Bleed Together

_''--aboard the Moonshore Express to the Florem Capital. All aboard--''_  
  
The announcement echoing through the rafters drifts past him and into the sea of passengers: nameless, faceless. It's a monotone voice that pushes through the speaker system -- deep, tired. As if they've said the same announcement innumerable times already. They probably have.  
  
 _''--the Moonshore Express, platform five. Last call for--''_  
  
When he peers into the dark depths of the train station's vaulted ceilings, he can see the mark of the church's iron grip. Moonshore is a pretty little seaside port town, with its white beaches and indigo flowers scaling every building. It doesn't look like Gathelatio, not in the slightest, but it  _feels_  the same. He doesn't know whether to like or hate that.  
  
But his mom liked it here. That, he does know.  
  
''Sir Janne?''  
  
His eyes snap into focus, and there stands Yoko, arms filled with bags of impulse purchases she asked nicely (read: begged) Alternis for. He'd almost call her a spoiled little brat, if it weren't funny as all hell to watch that living statue of a man sigh deeper and deeper (and click open his wallet nonetheless) with every puppy-dog gaze cast his way.  
  
The afternoon sun glitters through a nearby stained glass window, and Yoko fades into a blurred mess of light, as he squeezes his eyelids near-shut to block out the glare.  
  
''I know, I know. I'm coming.''  
  
One day. That's how long it  _would've_  taken them to reach Florem if they'd gone by air. Instead, he's forced to share close quarters with two weirdos for the weekend and have a whole slew of strangers breathing down his neck. Well, at least this arrangement will ensure Alternis ( _oh, the valiant dark knight; protector of Eternia, shield of the poor and kisser of babies_ ) won't be able to hold him back any longer. He'll have his first taste of freedom -- here, as just another face in the crowd.  
  
He sees the train before he sees Alternis. It's an impressive piece of machinery and wheels, red metal polished so extensively even people traveling by themselves have a companion in their reflection. White smoke rolls across the stone steps, fading whenever someone passes through in a hurry. The sunlight reaches here, too, casting the platform in an unusual yellow glow.  
  
Alternis shepherds them aboard the train with the sourest of expressions. He seemed to be mere seconds away from crossing his arms and impatiently tapping his feet -- but, on second thought, Janne concludes he wouldn't. He already has difficulty expressing emotion on his face. If he took it a step farther, he'd only end up hurting himself.  
  
(Yet somehow, Janne's mind keeps wandering to the fireplace. Its flickering light. Alternis' hand. Scars. Burned skin. Its countless imperfections. The hold on his helmet, so tightly his hand trembled. Lightning-like scars on his throat he now attempts to cover with a colorful little scarf.  
  
How much pain has he witnessed? How much of it  _endured_? Janne wonders if it comes close to the amount he has suffered.)  
  
They fall in line with a throng of other passengers of all shapes, sizes, ages and walks of life. There isn't much room to speak of in the hallways -- two people would have to sidle past one another if they were to meet halfway, and the stuffy decor doesn't help much with the feeling of claustrophobia crawling up his spine. Any more crowded, and those sun-stained curtains will wrap around him. He'll breathe the air of others, until the space in his lungs is no longer his own.  
  
... This sucks, man.  
  
Though, as usual, Yoko doesn't seem bothered by the situation whatsoever. With a smile between her cheeks and a gleam in her eyes, she cheerily chats with the two women in front of her, complimenting their makeup and showing their son (he couldn't be older than six) how to fold a songbird with a square leaf of paper she draws from her bag (which she also begged Alternis to get for her -- go figure) while the queue moves along at a snail's pace.  
  
A pair of eyes are upon him, staring.  
  
He doesn't turn around. He already knows who is looking at him.  
  
Moments later, he is situated upon the comforter in his luxury room -- a car overflowing with beds, the only thing giving you even the slightest hint of privacy being a flimsy curtain with a garish flower pattern you can draw back. A couple dozen strangers surround him, every last one either stuffing away luggage or throwing junk out of their suitcase to make their space feel like a home away from home.  
  
Exhausted, he allows himself a few moments to recline on his bed. The sheets are feathery-soft, give off a scent of patchouli -- for the smallest of seconds, he's home.  _Really_  home. There are some smells you never forget.  
  
His peace is interrupted by a group of adult men, laughing their lungs out further down the car. Cracking open an eye, he finds Yoko looking at him, once more. This time, she's on the bed above him, head and left leg hanging over the side of its metal frame. It's a miracle the accessories in her hair haven't slid off yet.  
  
''The conductor told Us dinner is served from six till nine o'clock,'' she remarks, leg swinging back and forth, ''would you care to explore the train with Us until then?''  
  
Her smile seems innocent enough, causing him to believe she genuinely wants to look around and not cause trouble. But there's a heavy ache in his chest that chains him to the mattress, and the deep scent that clings to it...  
  
He can explain it. But he doesn't particularly want to.  
  
''Nope, I'm tired.''  
  
Yoko's sandal slides off her foot, clattering upon the floor, and she jolts at the noise -- she should've seen it coming, honestly. And, like a knight in shining armor, Alternis halts in unpacking his essentials and dives for the sandal, sliding it back onto her white-socked foot. The smitten grin she gives him as thanks is finally enough to convince Janne to roll over.  
  
''How about you, Sir Alternis?''  
  
Unable to withhold himself from cracking open an eye, he casts a lingering gaze over his shoulder toward the man. Of course, he knows now what Alternis looks like, but to see his face in the light of day is... strange. The tales he heard in his youth of the knight rang true... for the most part. Stoic, valiant, a mystery that roams the streets in the dead of night and helps the elderly cross the street at dawn. He doesn't know where Alternis' armor ends and his skin begins -- and frankly, he doubts Alternis does, either. He strides with rigid perfection as if still wearing his sabatons, fumbles with his gloved hands, talks without a twitch to his lips; but the stern pull on his brows is ever-present, as is the flicker of his gaze from left to right. He's forced into a situation that practically  _oozes_  normalcy. No more bandits, no more villains, no more fighting. Oh, what a surprise. The man who eats, breathes and sleeps the wellness of Eternia doesn't know how to act outside of his duties.  
  
Janne would weep, if he actually cared about it.  
  
Yet, now that the armor is off and the light is bright, the scars on Alternis' face are on full display... and he doesn't seem too bothered, for some reason. There's a few small clean lines, running from cheekbone to jaw -- probably from a beast attack. There's another, small and jagged, that travels under his right eye -- must've been a close call.  
  
And then there are the ones on his throat that scatter like lightning, colored a sickly purple hue. They look newer,  _fresher_  than the others. But they hadn't run into trouble recently with any monsters. If anything, they all seemed to avoid the man in sinister-looking black armor, and his sword crafted from blood.  
  
It wasn't just monsters, either. The Kaiser had told them during briefings to avoid the knight at all cost -- he was dangerous, an animal,  _a savage beast_  that can slice through your flesh as if it's butter and crush your bones with a single hand.  
  
But when the Kaiser returned to the Skyhold with his brother's blood on his hands, he remarked upon the dark knight with an easy smile on his lips. They shared strategies over a mug of coffee, discussing how next to proceed. Pink crumbs dusted Anne's cheeks as she sat leisurely in the crook of the Kaiser's arm, acknowledging Janne only with the occasional glance as she dug into a macaron.  
  
He'd told Janne the knight had been a sight to behold. Ruby-red blood pooled out of the cracks in his helm, but still, he remained before the Grand Marshal, shielding the man with his own body. The fool -- the utter fool.  
  
The remains of a spell had circled the Kaiser, electricity snaking around his arm and begging, begging,  _begging_  to be released. Any longer, and the magic would've traveled back up into his own body... but it had been his lucky day. The knight had dashed forward like lightning, had struck at him...  
  
... and he had missed.  
  
So he'd wrapped his hand around the knight's throat.  
  
... Oh.  
  
It was nothing personal, he'd assured Janne -- but it had been mildly amusing, watching the knight's body fall limp to the floor like a discarded rag doll. And Janne had laughed at the time.  _Serves him right_ , he'd said.  
  
But now... now, staring the aftermath in the face... he isn't so sure anymore.  
  
 _... Oh._  
  
Alternis is staring back at him.  
  
The skin around his eyes is pale and faded, yet his irises are blood-red, as if they've pulled the color from his cheeks. He tears his crimson gaze away from Janne and, as if released from a spell, he finds himself able to turn back over and face the wall once more.  
  
''Thank you for the offer, but no,'' Alternis says, to which Yoko audibly voices her disappointment. ''I have some remaining...  _business_ , that requires my attention. I'd like to hear of your discoveries at dinner, though.''  
  
That seemed to do the trick. Her mood turned around, Janne heard her jump off the top bunk (she didn't bother using the tiny ladder off to the side) and slam down on the floor with both feet.  
  
''Wonderful! We won't disappoint you!''  
  
Moments after, a shrill whistle cuts through the air -- once, twice -- and the car rumbles as they depart. Yoko sticks to the window, practically glued to the glass as the train station's white bricks make way for the rolling hills of Florem. This close to town the hills most likely consist of farmland and pastures. He doesn't bother to glance outside (too busy resting his head), but he can't be too far off, surely.  
  
He hears Yoko's sandals bounding off, and soon after his consciousness follows suit, slipping away from him ever so slowly... until the draw of curtains fills his ears. Grogginess swimming around his brain, his body is still turned to the wall; only now, orange light cascades over him. His shadow creeps along the wooden paneling at a snail's pace, gentle and slow. Everything would be peaceful, were it not for that soft yet scratchy sound every few seconds, like graphite gliding across paper.  
  
''Looks like you made a friend,'' comes a voice, cutting through the fog in his mind.  
  
There's something warm pressed firmly against his legs. A pillow? A blanket, maybe? Janne doesn't know and, honestly, doesn't really care. Finally, he's caught a wink of sleep without being disturbed by turbulence or an overly-excited child hovering above him.  
  
The warm thing wriggles.  
  
As if having touched boiling water, his muscles tense and he bolts up from the bed, colliding with Yoko's bunk above him head-on. There's a ringing in his ear, all of a sudden, and dizziness overtakes him. He tries to massage the throbbing pain behind his temple away and through the space between his fingers, finds an old tabby cat staring at him with interest.  
  
When he searches for the source of the voice, he spots Alternis ( _of course_ ) seated on his own bed with his back to the wall, idly scratching away in a notebook. He acknowledges Janne with the barest of glances, and he bristles in response.  
  
''You  _could_  ask me if I'm okay, you know.'' Rubbing his temple doesn't seem to be helping anymore. Now, there's just another dull throb in his brain to add to the collection. ''That would be a  _nice_  thing to do.''  
  
Another glance. ''You appear to not have a concussion,'' Alternis says and, likely as an afterthought, adds, ''that's good.''  
  
... Well, it's as good as he's gonna get. He tries to shoo the cat away, but it doesn't budge. It can probably sense he's a dog person. ''Yeah, it's fantastic. Now what do you want?''  
  
Every so often, the curtain shudders as faceless people brush past the fabric as they pass their poor excuse of a room. Judging by the evening sun bleeding through the window pane, Janne reckons dinner must be served around this hour. A hollow growl comes from somewhere deep within his body, and sadly, he's reminded the last thing he ate was half of a croissant nearly six hours ago.  
  
Alternis twirls the pencil between his fingers, perfect circles with only fluid motions -- and stops when the footsteps outside quiet down.  
  
''What can you tell me about the Skyhold's engine?'' he prompts, and there appears to be genuine interest in his gaze. For once, those red eyes twinkle with intrigue, and Janne cannot help but notice -- ever the observant one. Always looking for signs of trouble, signs of illness, signs of heartache -- and in his own life most of all.  
  
''It's... big,'' he replies.  
  
Silence.  
  
''Yeah, I figured.'' Alternis pinches the bridge of his nose, tap-tap-tapping the pencil in his hold against his bed frame. ''Do you still not fully grasp what kind of situation you are in? I  _urge_  you to take this seriously.''  
  
''Gods, geez, I dunno,'' he huffs, taking a moment to sit up straight and smooth out his blankets. ''The Kaiser knew all about the engine, not me. He's the one who built the damn thing.''  
  
Alternis' pencil begins to scratch across the paper, scribbling furiously. ''From our observations, we noticed no sign of wings, propellers -- anything, really -- that would suggest an engine powered by a skystone.'' From this point on, his words devolve into half-hearted murmurs, as if speaking mostly to himself. '' _Even with all the necessary equipment, any ship will have trouble lifting off the ground without an intense, concentrated source of energy. If not a skystone, then..._ '' He turns back to Janne, pencil by the ready. ''Is there a possibility the combustion chamber is crafted from obsidian?''  
  
''I saw it in passing once. It looked like an engine.''  
  
''You're no help.''  
  
''Surprise, surprise.''  
  
With a short, irritated exhale, Alternis scratches some more in his notebook and snaps it closed with a flick of his wrist. ''No matter. I expect Yoko shall return soon for dinner, and with the ears of strangers close by it won't do well to question you further until later tonight. I suggest you enjoy the next few hours.'' Janne takes a breath to retaliate (how could he possibly enjoy the next couple hours with  _him_  breathing down his neck), the words are on the tip of his to--  
  
Alternis stares at him -- no, not  _at_  him:  _above_  him.  
  
''You're bleeding.''  
  
Something wet rolls past his brow, over the bridge of his nose. Swiftly, Janne wipes it off with the back of his hand.  
  
It comes back red.  
  
Curse hidden underneath his breath, he rises swiftly from his bed, throws aside the curtains and hurries down the corridor. He attempts to wipe it off once more, pressing blood-smeared fingers to his temple to try to stem the flow, but it doesn't work. The old wound stings worse than ever before.  
  
Holly had fixed him up, certainly, but... that's what white magic is, isn't it? Just a quick fix. A temporary band-aid until medicine and time can heal what's underneath the skin you tear. Then again, she couldn't heal him completely, back then. Not if Alternis had anything to say about it.  
  
With every little thing that goes wrong, he comes to despise the man more and more.  
  
He's uncertain if blood runs down his hand or not, but none of the other passengers seem to notice or care. They're too absolved in their cheerful conversations, their card games, and making friends with people who were complete strangers half a day ago -- and all with the curtains open so the whole car could hear their deep-rooted traumas being exposed and laugh along with their shitty jokes.  
  
It has a sense of familiarity, of  _openness_ , he last experienced during his school years.  
  
Yew hadn't been his only friend during his time at Al-Khampis. They were four long years of homework he avoided, classes he skipped, and tests he would ace nonetheless through self-study at his dorm. He'd been called to the headmaster's office more times than he could count, but he never got expelled - he was just a little bit  _too_  good of a student for that.  
  
And he still thinks about the people he hung out with. The boys he did dumb dares with in the dead of night, lounging around the dorms, tired but never retreating to bed even if school started bright and early the next morning. The girls he leaned on after fencing practice, them leaning on him as well, seated on the steps to the training hall in the afternoon sun, with aching muscles and a cold beer disguised as soda in his limp hold.  
  
It was all he had needed at the time. Of course, Yew was a good friend as well, but a change in company never hurt.  
  
He still knows their names. Still remembers their faces. Wonders where they are now.  
  
After graduation, he believed himself to be incapable of making friends again. He strode into the Empire and stumbled into the Crystalguard. All that mattered was if he could fight, follow orders, and eventually, lead. Already at the top of his battalion, he shot through the guard's ranks and joined Nikolai at its head at the young age of eighteen. Just barely an adult, but already a mountain of responsibility rested on his shoulders.  
  
Nikolai once argued he was growing up too fast, and Janne could feel his silver tongue fall out from between his lips. He didn't have an answer to that.  
  
Tears collect on the brim of his lower eyelids, and the train's decor blurs into a mess of earth tones.  
  
He misses them. And it hurts to admit that.  
  
When he stumbles into one of few small bathrooms aboard, the face staring back in the mirror is a stranger to him. The reflection's hair sticks out in every direction, and blood flows from his temple -- not an ocean's worth, but enough to be concerning. Red lines tremble through the white of his sclera. With equally trembling hands, Janne tears off paper towels and holds them under the running faucet, rubbing at the pink streaks on his face.  
  
He doesn't know how much time passes, but soon the sky is colored indigo. The light above the sink flickers with every breath he wills into his lungs. His waterworks have dried up. No longer does he have the energy to even  _try_  to put his sub-par healing skills to the test on his wound. He's just hungry... and sad, and exhausted.  
  
 _Knock-knock-knock._  
  
''Sir Janne?''  
  
It's Yoko, of course.  _Of course_. She just has a knack for bothering him at the most inopportune moments, doesn't she? At first he could ignore her endless commentary on everything, and at some point in time he came to depend on her cheery chatter to fill up the void between him and Alternis, but  _Gods_ , he is not in the mood right now.  
  
So he keeps quiet.  
  
 _Knock-knock-knock._  
  
''We're not leaving until you accompany Us to dinner,'' she says, muffled through the door. ''Sir Alternis has already procured us a seat, and it would be most rude to keep him waiting any longer.''  
  
 _Let him wait_ , he wants to say. But his stomach twists and turns in pain, moments away from just devouring itself out of desperation, so he shuffles to the door and nearly smacks it into Yoko. She stumbles back in surprise but quickly turns back to her usual self. The hat he usually sees her with is nowhere to be found. Instead, her hair has been pulled into messy twin buns, held together by all kinds of flowery pins and clips, as if a child did it for her. She looks him over from top to bottom, smile ever-present.  
  
''You look terrible.''  
  
''And you look ridiculous,'' he retorts, releasing a groan so deep it (most likely) came all the way from his toes. ''Let's just go eat already. I'm fucking starving.''  
  
Without the chatter of adults and the laughter of children that roam the corridors, determined to explore every nook and cranny of the train, an eerie silence clings to the hallways -- sticky, suffocating. Dim lights, sparsely placed, are all that illuminate their walk to the dining car. Yoko curls a hand around his arm. He shakes it off.  
  
Soon enough, they reach the dining car and emerge into a sea of light, warmth and rich aromas. The place is absolutely packed, square tables and plush chairs squeezed into every available spot. Yoko takes the lead, weaving around waiters and hungry guests alike until they've reached Alternis, who's tucked into a back corner by the window. He acknowledges them both by raising his brow, making room for Yoko beside him as Janne takes a seat opposite of them.  
  
''You're late,'' Alternis begins, and looks like he's about to say more until a waitress approaches them to note down their preferred beverages and meals. Once she's taken their orders and left, he turns back to Janne, gloved fingers tapping the table, ''we could've missed the rush, had you not spent an hour holed up in the bathroom.''  
  
''Forty-three minutes,'' says Yoko. No one says anything more after that.  
  
Something has lodged itself in Janne's throat, and it remains stubbornly while he scarfs down royally-buttered bread and practically inhales his bowl of pumpkin soup. He feels the liquid travel down his body, heating up practically every crevice... but still, he doesn't feel any better. The silence remains. Not even Yoko tries to break it.  
  
Speaking of Yoko, she cleans her plate of pasta and meatballs in record time. There's sauce in her hair and Janne finds a stray spaghetti noodle in his soup that must've launched away during her vigorous devouring, but it doesn't seem to bother her much. Just like most things that should bother her at least  _somewhat_ , but don't. With a smile, she puts the lock of hair in her mouth and pulls it out clean and slightly damp.  
  
...  
  
Janne decides to focus back on his soup.  
  
''So, Sir Alternis,'' Yoko begins, swirling around the apple juice in her glass, ''We are pleased to announce We have made a great number of discoveries.''  
  
For some reason, the man's gaze softens. The grilled salmon and roasted potatoes on his plate appear more poked at than eaten. He takes a sip of his chardonnay before answering, ''that's nice. Like what?''  
  
''Well,'' she starts to count on her fingers, ''first, We ran into that lovely couple We met earlier, and their son did Our hair in a most wonderful way! Then, some elderly gentlemen taught Us how to play poker, and it was such a delightful time! We must've spent hours playing.'' She looks at her two outstretched fingers for a beat. ''It felt like more in Our mind.''  
  
Her hand now reaches for the small bread basket the staff provided Janne with, and he bats it away.  
  
''Back off,'' he says, waving a spoon at her in what he hopes is a threatening fashion, ''you've had your own food.''  
  
In response, she sneaks a bite of salmon off Alternis' plate. He lets her. ''Not hungry?'' she asks him, eyes widening ever so slightly when he edges his plate closer to her.  
  
''Not particularly,''  
  
Yoko, not one to say no to a free meal, happily digs in -- though she keeps her eye on the man next to her. Janne takes this opportunity to finish his own meal. Their table has morphed into an island of silence, floating in a turbulent sea of laughing masses. Plates of appetizers get passed around in the corner of his eye. Glasses clink. Everybody talks.  
  
Except them.  
  
His last spoonfuls of soup taste like nothing. Janne doesn't want to talk; they shouldn't attract attention, and yet, he wants to make a scene. Throw his plate on the floor. Cuss until the words bleed together and his tongue falls out. Cry until he can only wheeze for air.  _Crush_  and  _destroy_  until he doesn't feel numb anymore. He doesn't know how to do anything else. Why is he here? He should be dead.  
  
 _And that bastard still has his sword._  
  
''So, Sir Alternis,'' Yoko begins, nails tapping against her glass in an unsteady rhythm, ''could you... tell Us about Edea?'' Her voice sounds somewhat uncertain, as if she's avoiding the elephant in the room. ''We see much, but... not everything. What was your childhood together like, for instance?''  
  
Alternis' shoulders rise ever so slightly. ''It's not a very interesting story.''  
  
''And your adulthood together, then? She must be an extraordinary woman, for you to drop everything to come to her aid.''  
  
Suddenly, the parsley drifting at the bottom of his bowl isn't that interesting anymore. Oh, Edea is extraordinary, alright: extraordinarily  _loud_ ,  _annoying_ , and myriad other descriptors Alternis would most likely drive a sword through his ribs for, were he to ever say them aloud. She is a menace, a speed-demon wielding a katana like it is an extension of herself, and... she means a lot to Alternis, if this dumb trip is anything to go by.  
  
''She's...'' Alternis starts -- and stops.  
  
The man that had stood next to Edea's side -- hands no longer trembling around his blade's hilt, eyes now hardened with resolve -- had meant a lot to Janne. And a small, stubborn part in his heart still allows Yew to  _mean_  a lot to him.  
  
''... She's great.''  
  
...  
  
''That's  _it?_ ''  
  
He startles himself, even, with how much venom drips from his tone. Two pairs of eyes are upon him instantly, and a lull falls in the conversation between some strangers behind him. Yoko chews the skin off her lips. Alternis' gaze is tense yet his mouth opens and closes like a fish, as if grappling for words to speak.  
  
But Janne doesn't care. He's been working so hard, all these years, with so little reward. Exhausted doesn't even begin to describe himself, and at first he thought the work in itself would be rewarding, knowing that the end result would  _finally_  be enough to satisfy him -- but it's all gone to fucking  _shit_. He's miles away from where he wants to be, the few people that cared about him are gone... and he feels so hollow. He is a husk of who he once was.  
  
When his last parent left this planet behind... so, too, did he.  
  
''She's  _great_ ,'' Janne repeats to Yoko's clenched jaw and Alternis' horrified glare. ''She's great. Of course she's great! What was I thinking?'' He's definitely drawn the attention of other passengers, now. They turn and point, whisper and look away; their stares pass right through him. ''So, you're telling me I'm wasting away my last couple of weeks on this, this  _hellhole_  of a planet--''  
  
''S-Sir Janne--?''  
  
''--pursuing some  _chick_  that you think is just  _'great?'_  Did I get that right?'' The man across from him fades into a blur. Something wet travels down his nose. ''Is this what you envisioned, huh? A nice,  _relaxing_  road trip to distract yourself from the fact you're blatantly disobeying orders all for some, some  _girl_? So you can swoop in and play the hero?!''  
  
Heat blossoms in every part of his body, from his toes all the way to the tips of his ears: anger, pain, red-hot shame. And, by the looks of it, Alternis isn't faring any better. A maroon flush has set his head aflame.  
  
''You're wrong,'' Alternis hisses, stabbing a fork against his emptied plate, ''you're wrong. Now  _shut up._ ''  
  
''Am I, though?!''  
  
''Yes, you are!''  
  
''She came  _this_  close to slicing my leg off hours before you tripped over me,'' his voice tears through his throat, ''she almost spilled my guts all over Ancheim -- she doesn't need a hero!  _She doesn't fucking need you!_ ''  
  
''ENOUGH!''  
  
An ear-splitting crack silences the car within a fraction of a second. Purple flames slither back into the crevices of Alternis' fist, and he drops his fork as if it's burning him; it clatters upon the table between shards of his ceramic plate, its prongs bent at odd angles.  
  
And that is when Janne looks at him.  _Truly_  looks at him. Canines glint at him in the light. His red eyes are nearly glowing, filled with hate and disgust and yet... they've never looked more alive.  
  
The Kaiser was wrong. Alternis is a savage beast like no other: he is a savage beast with a  _heart_.  
  
And  _he_  has been chipping away at it -- much as Alternis has done with Janne's own.  
  
Without another word, the dark knight, hidden in plain sight just moments before, pushes away from the table and marches out beneath the gaze of a crowd of millions, slamming the door behind him. Slowly, carefully, the chatter in the car picks up again, and Janne takes this moment to sink into his chair, hands dragging across his face.  
  
He doesn't know how long he sits there, covering his eyes, looking much like a child wishing the world away. Gathering whatever strength remains inside him, he finds his tongue and says, ''he's wasting his time,'' to Yoko, momentarily lifting his hands to look at her, ''isn't he?''  
  
Yoko says nothing.  
  
''Edea doesn't need his help, does she?'' he continues. ''She never did.''  
  
''... No, she doesn't.''  
  
''I thought you never lied.''  
  
A small irritated huff comes from her. She pokes at the remaining potatoes with her own fork, shoves the shards of porcelain together, and allows her eyes to wander to the door Alternis disappeared through.  
  
''There is something you must know about Us,'' she begins, and her voice, for some reason, sounds heavy. It is a far cry from her usual sing-song tone. ''We do not see the whole truth. We only see flickers of the future: things that  _have_  to happen, and people that  _have_  to be in a certain location at a certain time. And it is up to Us to make the pieces fall into place.''  
  
''So, long story short, you're a bored clairvoyant teen who decided to play God?''  
  
''We prefer to see it as giving the fate of the world a helping hand.'' She takes a sip of apple juice. ''If We told people We only see possible futures, would they trust Our word? Humans do not wish to doubt. Uncertainty can lead many a fool down the wrong path.'' Her gaze swims through the crowd, only for a moment, before she focuses back on him. ''Had We told Sir Alternis that We saw him standing in Florem with you, of all people, by his side, he wouldn't have given Us the time of day. He'd have deemed it a  _waste_  of time, and moved on.''  
  
There is a hint of truth to her words, at least, Janne thinks. And, if she truly sees as much as she claims, then she must know her words have only managed to do the very thing she tries to avoid: instill uncertainty.  
  
If she saw him standing next to Alternis, miles away from everything he's ever known... what does that mean for him?  
  
''And, speaking of wasting time, you're wasting  _a lot_  at the moment,'' she continues. ''For the first time in weeks, Sir Alternis has left you by yourself.'' A lull falls in their conversation, and Janne realizes he hasn't breathed all these minutes. ''So, why are you still here? Why aren't you going home?''  
  
Because he doesn't have a home anymore -- but he doesn't need to tell her that. She probably already knows. So, instead, he exhales deeply and throws his hands into the air.  
  
''Who's to say, really? Tell me! Oh, almighty, all-knowing Yoko.''  
  
''Do you think you can handle the truth?'' she laughs, and continues, ''you were a sacrifice. And you are aware that to win a war, sacrifices must be made. You just can't accept you were one of them. But now, through the twisted hands of fate, you live still, and you don't know what to do with yourself from here on out.'' Her left hand clamps around her glass, the right reaches for Alternis' forgotten, half-empty glass of wine. ''Shall I let bygones be bygones, and reunite with my brethren? The scumbags who left me to die?'' She lifts her glass of juice, then shifts towards the glass of wine. ''Shall I run far from this silly quest to find an enemy's maiden -- as far as these scarred, worn legs of mine will take me? Shall I wait and watch from afar how this venture for righteousness inevitably falls apart, and fade into obscurity after? Maybe get a drastic haircut, if I feel particularly emotionally spent and hopeless about the grave I dug for myself?''  
  
Her eyelashes bat at him. A part of him wishes he could rip them off.  
  
''Does that about sum it up?'' she asks, voice sugary-sweet, seemingly oblivious to the eyes pointed their way once more. And, just as he expects by now, she seems less than bothered when the legs of his chair screech loudly against the floor and he tosses his napkin upon the table.  
  
''I hope you get food poisoning,'' he spits at her -- and then he leaves without a glance behind spared.  
  
In all those eyes, all those reflections... he can't bear to look at himself.  
  


*

  
That night, he dreams of toiling, turning waters: the ocean depths above him, and the surface below him, skimming the underside of his feet. Someone speaks to him, but all he hears is the murmur of water sloshing against his eardrums.  
  
It isn't suffocating, like before. He doesn't feel the need to move. Sink, or swim? It doesn't matter. He has already merged with the brine ages ago.  
  
The last of his hair dye clouds the clear water around him a sickly green.  
  
He could stay here forever: feeling weightless, without worry -- like he's been here all his life. He's never known anywhere else;  _anyone_  else.  
  
And he doesn't know himself. That's not so bad.  
  
Gulls drift below him, and tentatively, he reaches an arm forward, piercing the surface with the tips of his fingers. It's sticky.  
  
Black tar coats his fingers.  
  
When he breaks the surface, there is only darkness, and a blanket of tar that drifts upon the waves. It clings to every part of him, and no matter how loud his mind may scream, his body refuses to return to the depths -- to where it was  _safe_. To where he could continue to ignore his demons.  
  
Within the darkness, a mask blinks at him: long ears, red marks running through white porcelain, and an infinite void behind the eyes. Black goop drips from behind the pristine ribbons looped around her head.  
  
There's a girl attached to the mask.  
  
 _''Hello,''_  she greets. Her voice is distorted, like a broken microphone that only produces static.  
  
He tries to greet her, but no sound comes from his throat.  
  
 _''You're a long way from home,''_  she continues without pause -- and an ice-cold dread takes hold of his spine.  _''You should open your eyes, before you forget how to.''_  
  
...  
  
Janne jolts awake painfully aware of who he is.  
  
Eyes wide, sweat clings to his forehead and above his upper lip. His heart bounces around his chest as it if were a pinball machine, pressing tightly against his ribs and beating as if he's run a mile. Distantly, he feels an ache behind his temple, swimming around his head. Easy, easy...  
  
It was only a dream. Just a dream. Dreams cannot hurt him. He's stronger than this.  
  
A soft rumble fills his ears, and his bed sways every so slightly.  
  
After a moment of labored breathing and forcing his heart to settle, Janne dares to close his eyes once more. Dawn is still years away, by the looks of it. No point fussing: he's had bad dreams before, and this one was on the milder side -- though, it wasn't necessarily... bad. Mostly strange, and unnerving. He never knows how to feel about those.  
  
But the fact remains that it had rattled him. He lays there for an impossibly long minute, arms by his side and gaze lost in the underside of Yoko's bunk above him, tracing the tight curl of each and every metal spring with his eyes.  
  
Tonight would be a perfect time to escape. So... why hasn't he already? Why did he march back to their pantry-sized room with its gaudy curtains, drop his pants and that warm,  _stupid_  jacket on the carpeting, and crawl under the covers like a miserable little snail, only to weep until exhaustion knocked him out like a light?  
  
... Oh, yeah. Because he's an idiot.  
  
Well, that's not completely true. He's smart, certainly. Yew might've enjoyed receiving that sixth star on his diploma upon graduation, but it hadn't looked too bad next to his own name, either. He can tell a lot about others from a glance, too -- a skill lost to Yew, who garners most of his knowledge from books and stuffy old tomes.  
  
Okay, fine, he admits it: he misses Yew, even if it was only the boy's presence that he missed. He had grown so used to it over the years, it... it's difficult, for lack of a better word, to suddenly have to go without it.  
  
Does Yew miss him, too? He can't imagine so.  
  
And yet, memories of their time together now plague him, in these restless hours before daybreak. Months spent at the training grounds, honing their skills so they could prove their tormentors wrong -- to Yew, that meant an honorable duel; to Janne, it meant clocking their bullies straight in the jaw. During the aftermath, Yew had bound Janne's bloody knuckles in gauze and berated him for doing something so foolish.  
  
But he was smiling at him, nonetheless. And that had made it worth it.  
  
... It takes a great deal of effort to turn away from the wall and adjust his eyes to the scarce moonlight drifting in through the window. Alternis' bedding, pulled taut around his mattress only minutes before (at least, that's what it feels like), is unmade. Half of his fleece blanket lays sprawled across the floor -- Janne digs his trousers out from under it and tugs on his boots. Might as well wander around the train for a bit, if his body refuses to give in to the sweet promise of sleep.  
  
Reluctantly, he throws on his coat as well. The car isn't exactly warm, and there's no point in freezing to death. He rises from his bed, chances a glance behind him --  
  
Yoko isn't in bed, either.  
  
For the short while he's known her, she always seemed to value her beauty sleep, so it's certainly odd to not see her bundled between blankets and creating a puddle of drool on her pillow. Well, she's old enough to make her own decisions, and if that includes wandering a dark train at night, so be it.  
  
Then again, she  _is_  the youngest between the three of them, so even if he himself doesn't particularly feel like babysitting, society most certainly expects her to be looked after.  _She's_  still a kid (an annoyingly insufferable one to boot), and  _he'll_  leave his teenage years behind in only two short weeks -- and he definitely can't count on Alternis right now to shepherd her down the right path, so...  
  
... dammit. Damn it all to hell.  
  
It feels almost wrong to walk down the train at this hour. His heart beats a mile a minute as he tip-toes through the car, passing by closed curtains with nameless, faceless people softly snoring behind them. He slips through one door, and another, and another, until he's found his way back the dining car.  
  
A low rumble comes from his stomach, so Janne swipes a piece of leftover bread from a table to munch on as he moves to the back of the car. There's a door at the end and behind it, the kitchen, which he reckons is locked up after-hours.  
  
He tries the handle anyway, stubborn and curious as he is, and it swings open without any delay.  
  
Only darkness looms behind the doorway. Whereas he could somewhat see what he'd been doing so far thanks to the moonlight, further in, there isn't any to speak of.  
  
Janne chances a glance behind him, nerves itching at his throat.  
  
Did she  _really_  come down this way? Actually, scratch that -- he wouldn't put it past her. And if he finds nothing, he'll just turn around and go back the way he came. Easy-peasy.  
  
Though the space beside his hips feels bare, he still has his fists -- and that makes him feel better, though only marginally. He'll just have to bind them with gauze on his own, this time around.  
  
He takes his first steps into the room, just barely able to make out a small section of a kitchen counter, before he snaps his fingers and forces the few threads of magic within him towards his palm. Just below the surface of his skin, he feels them travel through his veins, to the tips of his fingers, and--  
  
 _SNAP._  
  
Sparks fly, certainly... but not much else happens. He tries again, again, and again, all bearing little result. How did Alternis make it seem so simple, back at that dingy old hut? If he, of all people, could do it, Janne would be able to as well... wouldn't he?  
  
''That's not how you do it.''  
  
He stumbles, slamming his hand on the kitchen counter to steady himself. There, in the corner behind him, sits Yoko, elbow-deep in a bag of potato crisps while his heart does somersaults like it's nobody's business.  
  
'' _You--!_ '' Janne hisses, stumbling back onto his feet, ''you,  _rotten_  little imp! What are you doing here?! Confess,  _now!_ ''  
  
Her gaze begins to wander, feet swinging back and forth. ''We drank the remainder of Sir Alternis' wine.'' A pause. ''It gave Us the munchies. And a headache.''  
  
He opens his mouth to berate her, to say Alternis would be furious if he knew she'd drank from his glass, but... he stops. And he doesn't understand  _why._  
  
Bile simmers at the back of his throat just at the mere thought of... well, starting to  _care_. Thinking of others can only impede you. Worrying about others' health gets you nowhere -- but he still does it. He visited his mother and father's grave with flowers, praying with rose thorns in his palms. He cared so greatly when Yew pressed his lips to his own: clumsy and curious, comforting yet exhilarating.  
  
For care stems forth from love.  
  
Yoko is a brat, and yet, he concealed a smile when she sat on her knees by that little boy from earlier today, guiding his hands as they created a paper songbird together. Alternis is a bastard; dumb as a brick, yet cunning and devoted to his country and the ones that have his back.  
  
Janne doesn't care for them. He doesn't love them. He doesn't want to love them.  
  
Yoko holds out the bag to him. In what little moonlight is left, he can't see how much is left inside. ''Hungry?'' she asks. Numb, Janne doesn't know what else to do than grab the bag and hold it in front of him like an idiot.  
  
''In any case,'' Yoko continues, ''you were trying to cast a light spell like you would do a flame spell -- but they aren't alike. The light of flames flickers and wavers, becoming something from nothing and expanding. But light,  _pure_  light, needs a strong foundation; a steady surface from which to radiate.''  
  
His senses return to him like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, and he suppresses a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. ''Yeah, okay, cool. Let's just go back before you get in trouble.''  
  
''All magic has to come from somewhere,'' she continues on as if he were a ghost, rising to her feet and pinching the bag of crisps from him. Crumbs tumble from her mouth as she says, ''casting a light spell the way you did isn't... necessarily  _wrong_ , but it is a waste of your energy.''  
  
''I was never taught another way,'' Janne responds honestly, for once. ''Now, move it. You're not supposed to be here.''  
  
But her hand reaches for his, swiftly, before he can pull back, and it's a strange sensation --  he can't recall the last time someone touched his hand in earnest. Right now, she isn't a fortune teller, seer of futures, or hobbyist charlatan.  
  
She's just Yoko.  
  
''Now, take that feeling when you usually cast,'' she wraps both hands around his, making a fist -- and Janne forces the magic through his veins once again, burning hot and bright, ''and direct it to...''  
  
Yoko opens his palm, and his lips part, jaw dropping ever so slightly.  
  
Light fills the room.  
  
And then, Yoko's body tenses, her nails piercing the skin on his wrist. ''We should go,'' she whispers, voice harsh with urgency, but he barely registers it. She tugs at his arm, digging her nails in deeper -- but he doesn't budge. '' _J-Janne,_ '' she tries again, but his feet are rooted to the floor.  
  
Two sets of eyes blink at them in the light.  
  
And he's casting magic. He's actually doing it. He shouldn't be able to.  
  
Yoko releases his arm for just a moment and instantly, his side feels bare in a way he cannot name. She snatches a knife from a nearby counter and holds it close to her chest, business end pointed towards the shrouded figures at the other end of the car, who inch closer and closer with every passing second.  
  
'' _Back off,_ '' Yoko growls, re-adjusting her grip -- the knife looks sharp enough to behead any man or animal who dare come within reach. How they didn't realize they weren't alone, Janne doesn't know; what he  _does_  know is that anyone on the train's staff has no reason to slink around in the dark. So, he readies his fists, quenching the light.  
  
It remains quiet for a moment too long.  
  
''... General Balestra?''  
  
And then, his heart stops.  
  
''It is you!'' one of the figures says, voice elated -- a woman. She summons a ball of flame to balance on her palm. There's a man beside her he doesn't recognize, but he does recall her face, and the name that belongs to it: Colonel Ariadne. He spots the graying hairs underneath her cap, the smile lines framing her lips... and his blood runs cold.  
  
She approaches him, musket on her back jostling with her movement and the bayonet at its tip glinting in the firelight. ''We all feared the worst when you didn't return from your mission in Eisen,'' she continues, countryside accent as heavy as ever, ''yet here you are, alive and well!'' She salutes with fervor, and the man does the same. ''It would be an honor to successfully complete this mission by your side, Sir. The Kaiser will be thrilled upon hearing the good news of your return, I'm sure!''  
  
''Friends of yours?'' Yoko whispers to him. He doesn't respond to her, only fumbles for the words of a question he already knows the answer to.  
  
''Under whose command are you?''  
  
The slight pause that falls seems to last forever.  
  
''General Grace, Sir.''  
  
Yoko's eyes flit between them, knife tightening in her hold. His heart can't catch a break today, apparently, but he steels himself nonetheless, and says, ''relay your mission details to me. That is an order.''  
  
Ariadne doesn't respond. Her eyes glide over him, turning to a cold, indecipherable gaze, before they land on Yoko.  
  
''Who's the girl?''  
  
Before he fully realizes what he's doing, his hand is on Yoko's shoulder, pulling her behind him -- and Ariadne's expression turns sour at the sight, hands moving to lift the rifle from her back. She glides a finger across the long barrel, taking a shallow breath through the mouth. The ball of fire wavers and disappears as quickly as it came.  
  
''You aren't coming back with us,'' she states, voice heavy with disappointment -- and clicks off the safety lock, ''are you?''  
  
... Yoko was right. He didn't know what to do with himself before the fall, and he sure as Hell doesn't now. He  _thought_  he knew, sure: everything seems easier when the only side you have to listen to is your own. But now, all he can think of is kisses he'll never have again. Red chiffon dancing in the wind. Purple burns brandished in porcelain skin.  
  
He takes a deep breath. Tries to remember what it felt like, to have pure light flowing through his veins. His ears turn red-hot, but he can ignore it. That's the only thing he's good at, anyway -- right next to causing trouble.  
  
(Oh, he really is a  _fool_.)  
  
''No, I'm not,'' he admits, watching Ariadne's face fall even further, and feeling an energy like never before coil around his palm. ''Tell the Kaiser I said hi.''  
  
And then it all turns white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (violently swerves around canon like it's my damn job)
> 
> im never writing a chapter thats 8k words long again so enjoy it while it last :^)


	6. Beacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains vomiting and descriptions of graphic injuries.

Like smoke in the night, Alternis' fury billows from between his fingertips and fades into the dark sky. With every pull from the cigarette clutched in his freezing digits, every breath expelled, he loses a bit of his anger... and, a little bit of himself.  
  
Once, he viewed that as a good thing -- not anymore.  
  
But the wind is cold and fast, at least, and numbs him in just the right way. Heat encroaches upon his fingers where the cigarette's tip burns red-hot. He inhales slowly, smoke rolling into his lungs, and he welcomes the feeling. It's been much too long.  
  
There had been too many eyes on him this evening. He just wants to forget.  
  
But every time he attempts to do so, the memory of Janne's words earlier that day flares up and latches onto every inch of his skin -- encompassing, suffocating. Janne doesn't know what he's talking about, he barely ever does... so why does Alternis allow him to get underneath his skin so?  
  
It must be his own doing. Without the walls of his armor, his skin peels up ever so easily. It's only normal others would take advantage of that.  
  
A strange sensation fills every crevice of his chest, as if his senses are shutting off, one by one.  
  
Suddenly, a burst of coughs wracks through him, nausea fills him up to the throat -- and he lurches across the back of the train, stomach acid forcing itself out of his body and onto the blur of tracks below.  
  
Head swimming, he wipes both sweat and spit onto his cuff and, after a moment of blankly gazing after the majority of his dinner, flicks the butt of his cigarette down as well.  
  
He had quit smoking years ago, but it had been easy to acquire a tin of tobacco -- too easy. He said he would never start again, but... old habits die hard. Memories, too. Feelings.  
  
A cluster of stars clings to the horizon, and he looks at it for a moment, wishing he could share the sight with  _her_.  
  
It is a struggle to admit to others the depths of his love. Whereas before he could speak about it open and honestly (even if only to his reflection in the mirror), now, there's a deep ache in his chest with every glance sent Edea's way.  
  
He will follow her, even when his very being tingles in apprehension. He had pledged his allegiance to her the moment he stepped into the Lord Marshal's warm, awaiting arms. No matter the cost, he shall shield her dutifully, protect her loyally -- trust her blindly.  
  
 _Much like a dog,_  he notes, and clamps a hand around his mouth to keep what little remains of his dinner inside.  _Much like a little black lap dog._  
  
Janne doesn't know anything. He never has. Yet, if Edea means so much to him, why can he not adequately put it into words? They always fail him when he needs them most. Always during presentations, or whenever emotions run high. Not surprisingly, they never do when he presses pen upon paper, but... one cannot propose to another by signed letter alone.  
  
Back then, it wasn't the time for a proposal. Now, it isn't either.  
  
It probably never will be.  
  
Heaving dryly, he wipes beads of sweat from his brow and forces down the urge to hurl once more. He stands there for what feels like forever, stewing within his own misery as he breathes in, and out, and in, and out. It works only marginally, but it's enough to drift between moments of agony and moments of wonderful, blank-minded bliss.  
  
Everything had been easier before Edea's bold defiance towards her country -- and he should've been there beside her as she did. Instead, all he remembers is chasing after her, losing her,  _finding_  her... and ultimately, failing to bring her back home.  
  
That's a lie. He never found her.  
  
She had found herself.  
  
After all was said and done, and he had fallen for a hundred years and drowned for a thousand more, she came home by her own strength, on her own accord.  
  
Things had been... fragile, at first.  
  
He had wanted nothing more than to hold her close. She had demanded political reformation, disbandment of the army in religious regions, and a place at the council's round table -- right after shoveling a meal fit for an entire tavern into her mouth.  
  
Meanwhile, he suffered hungry nights, unable to get even the tiniest morsel of food through his throat. Nightmares of drowning in endless depths haunted him. For the first time in years, his soul ached for the loss of something that never was.  
  
And perhaps he deserved it.  
  
The night is dragging on, and a light sheet of rain descends upon him. He feels better now, having lost half of himself in smoke -- it's not  _good_ , not by any means, but... he'd by lying if he said he was feeling worse. He scrapes together his willpower, spits across the handrail to get the sour taste out of his mouth, and turns--  
  
Whatever's left of his heart ceases its beating.  
  
First, there is nothing, only the whir of wheels speeding along parallel tracks, but then a distant rumble echoes throughout the night sky. It falls still once more. He waits.  
  
... Did he imagine things? Perhaps--  
  
The sun blinks into existence before him: brighter than it's ever been, louder than he could've ever imagined. He drops to his knees and clutches his ears, attempting desperately to block out the noise that tears through the night sky, so high in pitch it could pierce his eardrums without even trying.  
  
A yell escapes him, but he cannot hear it; only feel his throat turn raw.  
  
Bright, it's too bright --  _it hurts._  
  
The train has burst aflame with light.  
  
And before he knows it, it's gone dark again. Despite the whistling in his ears and the vertigo swimming in his head, he attempts to blink the spots from his eyes, trying to find room on his sleeve for the tears that won't cease their flowing. The first calls of distress arise from inside the train. Disoriented wailing. The sobs of children, roughly pulled from slumber.  
  
 _Something must've gone wrong with the engine,_  is his first thought. It's not a very comforting one, but it's all he's got -- and sometimes, that's enough for him.  
  
With waterfalls flowing past his cheeks, he throws open the back door and rushes inside, nausea long forgotten. The halls are packed with wandering passengers and frazzled staff members, hoping to calm the people despite their own uncertainty. Their faces are dark, adorned with black bags beneath the eyes and hollow cheeks.  
  
In the commotion, a mother stands bouncing her child who hiccups sobs out of terror into her shirt -- and he weaves around them, despite how much his heart aches at the thought of abandoning them.  
  
 _Their safety comes first,_  Alternis tries to reason with himself, and it works for just a moment. For every other moment on the way to his room, he clutches the hilt of his blade for strength, as if he would collapse on the spot if he dared to let go.  
  
And he nearly does.  
  
His room is empty. All three beds have their covers unceremoniously tossed aside (his bed worst of all), and something foreboding creeps around his lungs, coiling and squeezing the air out of him.  
  
 _Shit._  
  
He's lost them.  
  
This is what he gets for rolling out of bed at two in the morning to take a smoke break and drink his sadness away.  _Pathetic_.  
  
... Sure, everyone is entitled to be a little pathetic now and then, but thanks to his pity party he has lost not only a young girl that will surely get herself killed without him, but also an enemy of the state he  _seriously_  thought he could wring answers out of. And now, they're gone, and he has failed -- not just himself, but the Lord Marshal, too. His country.  _Edea_.  
  
...  
  
Janne was right: he is a fucking idiot.  
  
And he's not fucking  _happy_  about that.  
  
Without thinking, he casts the curtain aside and bolts toward the front of the car as fast as he can, bursting through door after door. The sea of passengers parts for him, perhaps because they can sense the inferno raging in his blade -- or perhaps because they can feel it burn within him.  
  
It doesn't matter. It won't change a thing. He'll rectify his wrongdoings.  
  
Edea will come to understand the depths of his affection through both his word and blade. Yoko will find a home to call her own. And Janne?  
  
Janne will pay for his crimes --  _every last one of them._  
  
Raindrops clatter against the windows of the dark car he emerges into. He strains his eyes, seeing little more than empty chairs clustered around square tables. Lightning flashes, and he finds himself in the middle of the dining car, with its walls covered from floor to ceiling in kitschy decorations, the basil plants and glass animals in the windowsills, and  _them_.  
  
Yoko and Janne are at the other end, pushing with all their might against the kitchen door. In that split-second of light, he notices Janne clutching his hand close to his chest, angry tears traveling past the creases of his snarl. Yoko stares at him across the car, eyes blown wide open as if she's seen the end of all times.  
  
His hold on his blade goes slack.  
  
The thunder's roar reaches them after a second that lasts much too long. Alternis opens his mouth to speak -- ask where they've been, what they've done, why seeing them in distress plucks at his heartstrings so -- but Yoko cuts him off, voice minuscule.  
  
''We're in trouble, she says, explaining absolutely nothing.  
  
An unseen force slams against the other side of the door and sends her toppling over onto hands and knees. Janne staggers, yet grits his teeth and digs in his heels again -- and not a moment too late, as another blow makes the door tremble and screech in its hinges.  
  
''Don't just stand there,'' Janne shouts at him, voice raw and pained (he's never heard it like  _that_  before), gaze more intense than he's ever witnessed, ''do something!''  
  
A crash -- a scream.  
  
Something pierces the porthole window at the top of the door, launching glittering pieces of glass into the dining car. They crunch underneath his boots as he finally,  _finally_  approaches -- and catches a glimpse of a musket's grip retreating through the window, just before a gauntleted claw bursts through, swiping for anything it can reach.  
  
Behind the claw, behind the arm, he spots a face, and his blood runs cold at the sight of it: canines glinting in the thunder's light, waterfalls pouring from her eyes, and pupils the size of pinpricks.  
  
Yoko is by his feet -- she hauls herself up by clinging to his coat, the glass on her back sliding off and clattering upon the floor. One of his arms shoots out to support her. He doesn't realize he's done so until her body is safely pressed against his side.  
  
Something oh-so-familiar begins to surge through his veins. It festers, living and thriving within his blood even as he left his armor behind. Emptiness taken shape. His bane; his curse.  _His magic._  
  
The woman's gauntleted nails drag against the door, frantic and desperate, just barely missing Janne's head by a hair. Without a moment to lose, Alternis focuses his energy into the center of his palm, burning and bright and  _starving_...  
  
''Balestra,'' she roars, ''you BASTARD! You dirty,  _back-stabbing_  BAST--''  
  
... and aims for the eyes.  
  
A horrifying scream escapes from the strange woman's lungs, as shrill as nails on a blackboard. She collapses, clawed hands tearing at the skin around her sockets, surrounded by nothing but rubble and smoke.  
  
And then they're off.  
  
The halls are even more packed than before: it's near-impossible to make it through. Yoko, who's a few steps in front of him, attempts to weave her way around the hordes of distraught passengers with little success. All these people, all these voices and all this air he shares with them... it's  _suffocating_.   
  
But despite it all, he collects what little breath he has left, puts his thumb and index finger to his lips, and blows.  
  
The passengers' distressed calls ebb into concerned murmurs at the sound of his whistle, and all eyes turn to him: mothers, fathers, parents and children, travelers and traders.  
  
There are too many eyes on him, once again -- but he can't run now.  
  
He can feel a pair of eyes on his back, yet he doesn't turn around. He already knows who's gazing right through him.  
  
''Please,'' Alternis addresses them, voice steady though his insides are trembling with adrenaline, ''remain calm and return to your beds. The situation is being dealt with as we speak.''  
  
Yoko arches a brow at him, but for the most part, it seems to work: some passengers shuffle away back to bed, though others remain, questions on the tips of their tongues. As the crowd parts, Yoko pushes her way back to him and, upon reaching him, lightly shoves him out of earshot. Her expression is tense, worry pulling on her brow. It's a look on her that's odd, and Alternis finds he doesn't like it.  
  
''Excuse Us for asking this, but how exactly are we 'dealing with it','' (she draws quotation marks in the air), ''as you say?''   
  
''As best as we can,'' he whispers in reply, glancing at the crowd that remained. ''We need to get all these people back to their quarters.'' A beat of silence to wet his lips, and admit, softly: ''that hit I delivered won't keep her down forever.''  
  
After a moment of consideration, Yoko gives him a solemn nod. She turns back to the crowd and their barrage of questions, the answers tumbling from her lips effortlessly.  
  
Briefly, he wonders if she's seen all this happening before. It wouldn't be too far of a stretch to believe she has.  
  
Like a ghost, Janne appears in his periphery vision, hand still clutched close to his chest and eyes fixed on Yoko. The stench of burned flesh permeates off of him, and Alternis scrunches his nose at the smell.  
  
''Friend of yours?'' he asks, disdain dripping from his tone -- he can't help it. One flashing second of worry for the man means nothing. It never has, and it never will be.  
  
''What do you  _think?_ '' Janne responds sharply.  
  
''She obviously knows you.''  
  
''Do  _your_  friends try to kill you?''  
  
''I don't--'' he intercepts, and snaps his mouth shut in an instant at the connotations. Janne doesn't have to know all the ins and outs of his social life. A dark knight works alone -- it's simple fact. They have little time for pleasures such as good food, good company, and the likes. Maybe that makes his life sad in the eyes of others, but he finds enrichment in other activities, like drawing, and... drawing. Sword-fighting counts as a hobby, doesn't it? He continues: ''I'm merely surprised to see she doesn't welcome you back with open arms. Surely you'd jump at the opportunity to go back to your old life.''  
  
''Anything's better than trailing after  _you_ ,'' Janne responds, and rubs his forehead as if trying to will a migraine away. ''Whatever. Just shut the fuck up.''  
  
Janne's teeth grit in pain as he rubs the space between his eyebrows. There almost seems to be less... bite to him, than usual. It's a bit strange, certainly, but he brushes it off without a second thought. Perhaps Janne is still exhausted from their earlier argument, but  _why_  is he, still? Alternis rolled as many cigarettes as he has fingers, downed a bottle of something that tasted like pure ethanol, and hurled his entire dinner across the back of a train, but... he's doing pretty okay. He's doing splendidly.  
  
He's  _fine._  
  
''I don't believe I will,'' he says after a moment of deliberation, even with the glare in Janne's eyes sharpening by the second. ''I take it she was none too pleased with your disappearance, given by her warm welcome. Now, start talking. Name, age, anything.''  
  
The lamps above them flicker in time with the roaring thunder.  
  
''Now's not the time,'' Janne says, voice hushed despite the growl in his tone. Yoko casts a concerned glance behind her, but he decides to ignore it in favor of staring down the other man.  _He_  is in control, and let it be known he won't ever falter.  
  
Not even Janne can knock his walls down.  
  
''So, why are you still here? What business do you have in Florem?'' he continues.  _You_ , because it's  _her_ , and Janne, still.  _You_ , because Janne's actions in the past have shaped his future -- for better or for worse.  
  
And  _you_ , because it makes it easier to distance himself from the other man, easier to pretend there's not a single thing they have in common that draws them together. The man you don't know, you can ostracize: it's as simple as that.  
  
And it's scary, that it is a simple thing.  
  
He doesn't want to care. It'll make it so,  _so_  much more difficult to do his work. He cannot allow himself to feel pity for Janne -- because it's not pitiful. He brought all this upon himself. To wear a mask of loyalty around her Holiness was a conscious choice. To wield his blade against his former allies was a decision he had to stand behind.  
  
 _And yet..._  
  
Janne picks up on the notion, face contorting into something vile; absolutely irate yet broken beyond belief. Perhaps in another life, during other circumstances, Alternis' heart would've bled at the sight.  
  
Instead, something  _hard_  connects with his ribs.  
  
The air is knocked out of him, inquisitive murmurs in his ears making way for a deafening silence. Stars shimmer behind his eyelids. His head-- he slammed it against the wall. Within moments, the stars fade, and he finds himself on the floor in a pool of water and lavender stems. A vase, cracked, lays a little way off.  
  
Janne had kicked him.  
  
He realizes it only seconds before the man has a vice grip on his throat. The hand locked around him is burned raw, smearing blood on his collar, smells of iron and  _magic_  -- but he cannot marvel at it for long. His vision tunnels. The lights flicker. He can't focus on Yoko, on the passengers, on himself. Only on his swiftly-fading air, and the tears that flow freely from Janne's eyes as he pulls him down against the wall, roaring like a starving predator.  
  
''Do you think I wanted this?!'' Janne howls, emerald eyes glistening. ''In a better universe, I'd be dead by now -- but  _no_. Instead, I'm stuck with  _you_ \--''  
  
 _BANG._  
  
The hold around his throat tightens. Without pause, Janne slams Alternis' head against the metal. Bright, flickering lights spring to life behind his eyes. Nails pierce the skin under his jaw.  
  
''--of all fucking people!''  
  
Alternis keeps silent. His head swims, both from the impact of his skull against solid metal, and from the magic within his veins attempting to draw strength from the pain. No longer does he have to put in the effort to do so, his body having grown accustomed to the rituals -- but that made it all the more difficult to push it down.  
  
He can't give in to his magic now. Not with all these people around. Not when he might need this strength later.  
  
The grip on his throat loosens ever so slightly, and coughs wrack through his body not even a moment later. There's dried blood on his neck and spit trickling down his chin, but he pays it no mind.  
  
Janne rises from the ground, knees soaked with water. As nonchalantly as possible, he tries to wipe the tear tracks from his face, but only succeeds in rubbing a smear of maroon across his cheeks.  
  
Yoko rushes over to pull him up from the floor. ''That's quite enough,'' she says, pointedly glaring at Janne. Her hands are cold, and her voice is unwavering as she speaks. ''You may kill each other on your own time, but not now. I won't allow it.''  
  
''We should've taken the airship,'' Janne grumbles. Green light flickers wildly between his palms, before getting snuffed completely. He lets out a soft curse at the sight. ''Or maybe not gone on this glorified rescue mission at all, how about that. Edea's a tough cookie. She'll live.''  
  
'' _You_  tried to kill her,'' Alternis croaks, rubbing circles against his throat.  
  
''Lucky for you, she doesn't make it easy.''  
  
His jaw tenses within an instant. The void underneath his skin crawls and festers like termites still and  _oh_ , how he wishes to peel off his gloves and unleash it... but, he clenches his teeth and forces it to settle.   
  
Janne notices, because  _of course_  he does, and takes a step toward him. ''Wanna know why I'm still here?'' A pause -- he's waiting for confirmation to continue. Alternis gives a nod -- but perhaps he shouldn't have. ''For starters, try pulling your head out of your ass. You might actually be able to figure it out.''  
  
Yoko gives a scandalized gasp at his words, but Alternis can't focus on it.  _Breathe in, breathe out._  Within the whirlpool that is his mind, he feels like he's fishing for answers with his bare hands. They slip through his palms at every last second. So tantalizingly close -- so excruciatingly far.  
  
But, against all odds, he catches the tail end of one.  
  
''She did welcome you back,'' Alternis begins, voice rough, yet a strange sense of clarity washes over him. ''She wanted you to return with her to the empire.  _And you refused._ ''  
  
'' _Bingo,_ '' Janne breathes. ''You're not as stupid as you look.''  
  
He isn't. He never has been. He noticed the futile attempts at healing spells Janne always cast on himself to lessen his pain. Back in town, he had witnessed how Janne's eyes had lingered on the display windows of bakeries and market stalls filled to the brim with metalwork. He held out his hand to alley cats, and (after losing her in the crowd four times) kept a tight hold on Yoko's collar, lest she get flattened underneath a horse carriage in her starry-eyed wonder.  
  
This kind of realization he feels is foreign to him: like a slap to the face, one he saw coming from miles away, yet turned a blind eye to all this time. He couldn't place it before, the discomfort clawing at his insides whenever he saw Janne being... himself. Quietly, secretly himself.  
  
He could've had the life he wanted -- because that  _was_  what he wanted, right? An easier life at the heights of the Empire, with people who respect him and follow his every command? People who equal him in skill and fortitude, who strive to achieve the same goal?  
  
And yet, he refused. He chose  _them_.  
  
''... Why?''  
  
... For the first time since Alternis met him, Janne appears speechless.  
  
A horrible buzzing noise fills the air, and the lights lining the hall become bright,  _too bright._  First, there's a crack, and the bulbs shatter to the sound of screams -- and a deafening  _bang_  that resounds through the car.  
  
The lights are out, sans one: at the very end of the corridor, illuminating the top of a scarred, limping woman and a man that supports her with an arm looped around her middle. Black veins mar the skin around her left eye socket, which is tinted a ghastly white, as if all color has drained from it.  
  
Despite her heavy lean, her eyes are ablaze with fire. With a twitching arm and shadowed face, she points her bayonet's business end their way.  
  
'' _Gotcha,_ '' she growls.  
  
From the corner of Alternis' eye, he sees Janne trying to reach for a sword that isn't there, cursing under his breath.  
  
''Come quietly now, general.'' She staggers toward them, one trembling step at a time. Her breathing is labored, chest heaving with every breath she wills inside. ''Let's not make this even  _more_  difficult than it has to  _be--_ ''  
  
Yoko promptly chucks a vase at her.  
  
Screams erupt around them: the small group of passengers that remained behind to still their fears (and later, silently watch on as Janne squeezed the living daylights out of him) bolt toward the back of the car. Yoko sprints ahead of him, Janne's hand firmly in her own, commanding everyone to hide in their rooms.  
  
They're gone before the shards can clatter upon the floor.  
  
Heart thundering in his chest, Alternis hurries after them into their room. In one deft swoop of her hand, Yoko snatches both her hat and parasol from her bunk, while he stuffs what little belongings he brought along back into his shoulder bag. There's a pistol at the bottom -- Janne's -- that he proceeds to dig out and slip into his coat pocket. Janne himself lingers in the doorway, eyes fixed upon the end of the hall.  
  
''She's getting up,'' he announces grimly.  
  
Within seconds, he finds Yoko's hand on his arm, pulling him through the parted curtains. At the other end of the car, he sees little but a dark outline -- but it's her, crawling toward them like a hound stalking its prey. She has eyes only for them.  
  
The final door swings open with ease, and immediately upon doing so, a harsh gale forces its way inside. The thunder has ceased, but the wind still rages like no tomorrow, sending stray rain droplets pelting at him from every side. Blond hair whips around his face. Iron tracks melt into a blur underneath them. There is no way off.  
  
It'll be fine. He's been in tighter spots than this.  
  
Steeling himself, he is about to draw his sword, until -- it's Yoko, once more.  
  
Delicately, she pulls him to the space beside the door, releases his arm... and hefts herself up the side, porcelain hands and wooden soles scrambling for traction.  
  
She slips on the wet metal, stumbling back to the floor into Janne's arms. He uprights her with a scowl on his face. ''You're crazy,'' he says, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. ''You're absolutely insane.''  
  
''Perhaps so,'' comes her simple answer. ''We don't plan on breathing our last just yet.'' Her eyes wander momentarily to her hat and parasol... then, with a determined gaze, she casts them overboard into the valley: two spots of red in a dark and bleak horizon. She reaches into her messy hairdo and pulls out a bobby pin, holding it before Janne. ''Do you?''  
  
...  
  
''Like  _hell_  I do.'' He takes the bobby pin from her, receiving a slight smile, and immediately pins back a stray lock of hair. ''If I'm gonna die anywhere, it's not gonna be here.''  
  
There is some truth to Janne's words. While Alternis has never truly experienced death, he has come dangerously close to it on multiple occasions. A knight can't control where they will meet their end. But, as far as anyone's concerned, he was born on Eternian soil -- and he will fight to be buried underneath an Eternian sky.  
  
... But they don't need to know that.  
  
Before he can object, Yoko has gone back to scaling up the train. The storm pulls at her from every direction, but she is determined, grappling for any notch she can find to hold onto.  
  
His mind wanders in the past too long, once again. Janne notices her struggling before he does and boosts her up, being mindful not to use his right hand. Once she's made it atop the train, he tries to scale up himself one-handed, barely getting two inches off the ground.  
  
...  
  
 _Damn it. Damn it all to hell._  
  
The bottom of Janne's boots are cold, even through his gloves. He flinches and nearly falls off the side, were it not for Yoko holding tightly to his sleeve.  
  
That surprised, unbelieving glance Janne casts behind him nearly makes Alternis stumble, too, but within the raging winds, he finds his voice.  
  
''Go.''  
  
''But--''  
  
''I didn't ask,'' says Alternis -- it all feels so familiar, sounds so  _familiar_ , it makes his heart plunge into his stomach, ''did I?''  
  
Not taking the time to wait for answer (and have that woman with the blood-thirsty glint in her eye catch up to them), he boosts Janne up and promptly follows behind. His gloves slip on the train's streamlined surface, but he clenches his teeth and manages to haul himself up despite all odds.  
  
It's silent, save for the wind whizzing past them and the rain clattering a symphony atop the train.  
  
The track curls around a cliff side, tall trees looming overhead. In the distance, the capital city glows brighter than ever, hues of pink and gold painting the storm clouds above. The cold seeps into his bones: it's a different cold than Eternia's, or anywhere else. At least Eisen had the promise of spring's warmth approaching. Compared to tonight, in this empty northern hemisphere, all he can feel is uncertainty settling into his bones.  
  
Autumn is never good. Autumn means colder nights and lonelier days. Freezing feet and aching bellies.  
  
He can practically hear them: the skeletons in his closet, banging with all their might upon the door. Release us. Release us. Free us.  _Free us--!_  
  
A growl comes from behind him.  
  
 _''You.''_  
  
The woman and man from before clutch desperately to the edge of the train, and he can finally see the full effects of his magic. The skin around her eye socket is eroding, giving an impression as if it were melting off of her bones. He clutches his hand tighter around the hilt of his blade.  
  
Their eyes are filled with intensity, and yet, they tremble as if they're pigs on their way to the slaughter.  
  
''You back-stabbing bastard,'' she continues, slowly rising to her feet. ''Fraternizing with those Eternian dogs, aren't ya? Or maybe you've still got some rot left in your brain from moseying up to church officials.'' She tightens her hold on her bayonet. ''We wept for you, you know? Each and every one of us.''  
  
She lowers her weapon ever so slightly.  
  
''Everyone... except the Kaiser. Maybe he was right in doing so. Maybe he already knew what you would do. But, it doesn't matter anymore.'' She props the bayonet up against her shoulder, a steely glare in her eyes.  
  
''Ariadne--'' Janne tries.  
  
''QUIET!'' she howls, loud as the thunder itself. ''I only want to hear your prayers. Tell them to me.'' Her finger inches across the trigger, the ghost of a smile pulling on her lips. ''The Celestials won't listen to you.''  
  
Janne remains silent.  
  
''What? No witty comeback? You used to be famous for those back in the barracks.''  
  
Alternis can't take much more of this. The pistol in his pocket is a weight he isn't used to, so with itching hands, he reaches inside his coat and pulls it out, pointing the barrel at the woman --  _Ariadne_  -- within the blink of an eye.  
  
Determined, he takes off the safety lock. Ariadne laughs. The man beside her bites back a chuckle.  
  
''Fighting fire with fire, hm? Stupid. So very stupid.''  
  
His fingers ghosts over the trigger. Rain cascades down his forehead, clinging to his eyelashes and resting atop his cupid's bow. Janne shakes his head at him, subtly, eyes wide and tense like a deer in the headlights.  
  
He presses down, hearing a soft click.  
  
...  
  
Nothing happens.  
  
But, before he can ponder the meaning of it all, Janne's hands are around his -- warm and surprisingly unexpected enough that he freezes on the spot. Swiftly, Janne pries the pistol from his hold (he finds he doesn't miss the weight of it in his hands whatsoever), gives it a once-over... and flings it toward Ariadne's head.  
  
He misses. It sails over her head, just barely missing her by a hair.  
  
... But it hits her lackey. Square in the face, to boot. The man exclaims in pain, stumbling backwards, feet teetering too close to the edge--  
  
\--and he falls.  
  
Ariadne draws a horrified gasp, hands too late to catch him, and she sinks to her knees. Alternis can see the man, upon the tracks: his cap has blown away and his arm bends at an unnatural angle, but he appears to be breathing, still. He'll live.  
  
He disappears behind the cliff face as the train races along. Ariadne clambers back onto her feet, the hands locked around her weapon trembling with fury. ''Even if I fail, general Grace will find you.'' A lust for blood drips from her every word -- desperate, unhinged. ''He'll make you wish it was ME who took you back! So, what'll it be,  _traitor?!_ ''  
  
Alternis doesn't even get the chance to draw his sword.  
  
There's an arm around his middle, all of a sudden -- Yoko's. She presses her side to his, and does the same with Janne on her other side. Eyes resolute. Gaze unflinching as she stares across the unending plains on the other side of the track.  
  
She takes a step towards the side -- another, and another, until he is too late to stop her.  
  
And she jumps.  
  
It's comforting, at first: the rush of wind, a sensation so familiar as he soars. No ground below his feet, the wind lifting him higher and higher until he can feel the clouds caress his cheeks and brush a kiss upon his temple -- and then they fall.  
  
He tumbles down a slope, slick with mud from the rain. There's an ache in his knees from the messy landing. A flare of pain shoots through his shoulder, and he starts rolling, rolling and rolling until finally, he comes to a stop. An earthy taste swims around his mouth.  
  
With great difficulty, he pushes himself up and sits for a moment, trying to collect his bearings.  
  
The soft patter of rain continues, easing up ever so slightly.  
  
He spots Yoko easily enough. She stares at him, blankly, before brushing off her muddy kimono and scouting the hillside -- most likely for the sandal she lost in their tumble. She finds it, knocks the two sandals' soles together to get rid of any dirt, and peers up to the train tracks.  
  
Alternis follows her gaze, and finds a tunnel running through the cliff side, just high enough to fit the train; not anyone standing on top of it.  
  
''Well,'' Yoko begins, slipping her sandals back on, ''that was close.''  
  
It was  _more_ than close. A part of him dreads to go back up there and find a corpse, _Ariadne's corpse_ , flat as a pancake. Bleeding. Disfigured from the impact.  
  
It is not a sight he wishes for Yoko to see. Nor Janne, even.  
  
Speaking off, Janne walks up to them, now. There's grass in his hair and mud caked in his eyebrows, and the wound on his head must've reopened once again, seeing as a trail of blood trickles down his temple once more -- but he is alive.  
  
Why does that elate him so?  
  
His heart must no longer be his own. For the first time in years, he feels it beating in his ears.  
  
''Wet gunpowder doesn't ignite.''  
  
It takes him a beat to realize Janne is talking to him, and even longer to figure out what exactly he's talking about. He replies with a simple ''Oh,'' mind blanking on responses that aren't curt or stupid.  
  
''Well, it can ignite once dried,'' Janne continues. ''But you'll permanently ruin it if you keep it in water for hours on end.'' A pause, a shrug. ''Like I did.''  
  
Something clicks in Alternis' mind -- and Janne must feel that he knows, for he turns away to tug blades of grass out of the knots in his hair.  
  
When Janne had pointed his gun at him, some weeks ago, he had never been in danger. It was all just a trick. Just a diversion to get away -- away from both Eternia... and the Empire.  
  
An animal howls far in the distance. It echoes across the plains, and draws his attention to the light of the capital, far off into the distance. Like a beacon, calling them to shore.  
  
But Alternis knows, the closer he'll get, the more he'll feel as if he's drowning.  
  
Yoko places a hand on his shoulder, unusually cheery after taking such a tumble -- but he welcomes it with open arms. He knows the closer they'll get to the city lights, the more his vision will dim and darken until he's a blind man walking.  
  
What will be his beacon, then? What will guide him through streets he's walked a thousand times before?  
  
He doesn't know the answer. And now, he is afraid to ask it.  
  
''Well then,'' Yoko says, staring right through him with star-filled eyes, ''shall we?''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (end of 1st arc.)
> 
> no beta we die like men
> 
> uuhh sorry for the wait?? lol i have no excuse except depression and working retail does NOT help with creativity lemme tell you that. i'll prob come back later this week and fix any mistakes in this chapter, i just wanted to get this out there :^)
> 
> i'm also glad to have reached 35k words!! so far this is my biggest writing project yet and i gotta say i'm pretty proud. didn't think i had it in me haha
> 
> i gotta go replay b2nd now to get a refresher on the plot. what will happen in arc 2?? wouldnt u like to know ;)
> 
> anyway, bye-bye for now! please leave a comment if you can! <3


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